#i had a come to jesus moment today of acknowledging that the reason i feel so fuckin. adrift. is bc for two full years i had planned on
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so much emotion can be conveyed in the final two lines of foundations.
#i had a come to jesus moment today of acknowledging that the reason i feel so fuckin. adrift. is bc for two full years i had planned on#killing myself a few days after my mcr show and march 2022 rolled around and the feeling passed and i hadn’t planned on making it three days#past my show let alone three months but u know what.#this coward is getting the fuck up!!!!!
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Steve + 9. "Don't even think about getting out of the car."
Oh, Eva. 🫠
Direct Order
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader
Summary: Steve doesn't like that you ignored his direct order.
Word Count: Almost 900
Warnings: Arguing, slight angst, stubbornness, slight feels (it's me), Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Another overprotective prompt ficlet. Thanks, Eva! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
The night air was cool and refreshing as you rolled the window down, but it went back up before you could appreciate the breeze against your skin. You shot Steve a glare who didn't acknowledge you as he drove. You didn't like uncomfortable silence, but you didn't attempt to fill the time with small talk. Not since he decided to rip you a new one in front of the team an hour ago.
You just wanted to go home.
“You have nothing to say?” Steve asked, his voice low. “Must be killing you to go this long without talking.”
You fought the urge to kick the dashboard since the car didn't do anything to you and smacking him could cause an accident. “And it must be killing you that I didn't fall in line today like a perfect little soldier,” you said with a sardonic smile. “Or would you prefer I act like a doll?”
“You ignored my direct order,” he growled as he gripped the steering wheel. For a moment you thought he’d bend or rip it away. “What the hell were you thinking?”
You sneered before facing forward. “Jesus Christ, give it a rest. You berated me enough on the quinjet and I don't need to hear it again.”
He took his eyes off the road long enough for you to see the anger brewing. “Damn right I berated you because you never listen to me.”
The tension thickened. You didn't typically argue with Steve. You went against him once and now he was saying you never listened to him? Where the hell did he get off?
“Don’t you dare lecture me about not listening to you when you’re the one who never listens to anyone,” you argued, feeling a hint of satisfaction when he clenched his jaw. “And I made the right call. I stand by that.”
The mission was a success because of your decision.
“You don't make the calls. That isn't your job,” he snapped, the tires squealing as he made a rough turn. “You could've been hurt or worse. Don't you get that?! You can be so stubborn sometimes.”
“But I wasn't hurt! And me being stubborn? Pot meet fucking kettle, Rogers!”
“Captain,” he said through his perfect teeth.
“Captain,” you scoffed, your blood boiling. “You are not my Captain right now. You're just some guy who wormed his way into driving me home after running his mouth.”
You shrieked when he slammed on the brakes, bracing yourself on the dash when he ran a hand through his blonde hair and bitterly chuckled. It was a foreign sound coming from him. One that made you shut your mouth. “Some guy? Now I’m just some guy?”
Concern flickered across your face. Yeah, you were mad, but you didn't have to push. “Steve. I mean, Captain, I-”
“I’m not just some guy and I’m not just your Captain,” he cut you off, stopping you when you reached for the door handle. “Don't even think about getting out of the car. We’re not done yet.”
“Why should I stay? So you can snap at me some more?” You mumbled. “Would you treat Bucky or Sam or anyone else like this?”
It wasn't fair to try and make him feel bad. He was your leader for a reason and he gave you an order. You didn't follow it. He had every right to be pissed off. By all means he had the right to bench you, too.
But why was he taking it personally?
All the anger fell from Steve’s face as he leaned across the seat more. “I’m sorry.”
Your gaze softened, too. “Why are you sorry?”
“For snapping the way I did,” he said with a shake of his head. “You just scared me today. I get scared every time you go into the field, but that was the first time you…”
“Didn’t listen,” you finished for him, your heart pounding when you realized just how close he was. If he leaned in any closer, his lips would be against yours.
“And you are right. I have a hard time listening to others myself,” he said, smiling when you snorted. “But I don't give you orders for you to act like a perfect soldier or doll. Just like I don't give Bucky or Sam or anyone else orders just to have things done my way. I do it to keep you as safe as possible. It would break my heart if something happened to you, sweetheart.”
Your eyes went wide. “Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?” You asked, your stomach doing a funny flip.
He chuckled, the sound much warmer than before. “So, you do listen.”
“Most of the time,” you teased, staring into his eyes. You could see how much he cared. No wonder he took this mission to heart.
“Arguing aside, you did well,” he praised, which sent heat to your cheeks.
“Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’ll forgive you for ignoring my orders if you let me walk you to your door.”
“And I'll forgive you for snapping at me in front of the team if you come inside and have a drink,” you countered.
You didn't expect him to move his mouth to your ear. “I’ll only come inside if you say ‘please’,” he whispered, sending a shiver down your spine. “And that's a direct order.”
Yes, sir. ❤️🔥 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers x female!reader#steve rogers x f!reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers fic#chris evans#chris evans x reader#nomad!steve rogers#captain america
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baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)
part 1
pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader
synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.
wc ; 6k
warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics
note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???
Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.
The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.
You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.
Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.
All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.
He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”
It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.
Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.
“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”
Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.
“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”
Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.
“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”
“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”
Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”
It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.
Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?
Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat.
“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.
“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”
The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.
Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.
“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.
You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.
So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”
“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”
His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad.
Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.
At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.
It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.
Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.
Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.
But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.
Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”
Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”
It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.
Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”
Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.
Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different.
“No, I… I had this at home.”
Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”
Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”
The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.
“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”
After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.
It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.
“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”
And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.
But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm.
“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”
And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.
So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others.
You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”
Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”
Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.
A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”
Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is.
Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”
You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.
“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”
The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?
Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”
“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”
“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.
You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.
Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.
It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.
You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”
It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.
For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.
Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.
And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.
+
“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.
You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.
It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.
The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.
“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”
You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.
But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.
Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.
“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”
You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.
Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.
“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.
When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.
With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.
What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways.
You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.
You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.
Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.
Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”
You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.
And still. None of it feels real.
The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.
It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.
Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.
“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.
“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”
Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”
“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”
You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…
Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.
When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.
It makes you smile.
“Thanks,” you say and mean it.
Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.
A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.
Suddenly, you feel warm all over.
Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.
“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”
“Hello to you, too, Jake.”
He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”
You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”
Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.
“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”
“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”
Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.
“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”
Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”
Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.
“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.”
The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again.
“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.
Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”
“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.
Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”
“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?
Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”
He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.
You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt.
“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”
“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.
“Is… are you okay?”
You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.
Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”
“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”
From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”
Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.
Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.
So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.
Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.
Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.
+
The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”
He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.
“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”
The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it.
And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.
“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…”
“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”
He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.
Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”
It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.
If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”
“You… you do?”
He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”
“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”
Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”
“Who is, then?”
He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.
“Bradley?”
“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”
A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”
“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”
Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”
He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.
#rooster#bradley bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#top gun imagine#mine#f:blph
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Enemy Of My Enemy - An Eddie and Billy Fic
I can’t stop writing these two omg 😭 The setup:
Takes place between S2 and S3.
Eddie and his friends have been tortured all year by Jason and his goons.
✨ For @munsons-maiden ✨ If anyone else wants to be tagged in my Billy and Eddie fics, let me know!
As soon as Eddie got the call from Hargrove that morning, asking to meet in the usual place after school, he could tell something was up. Hargrove's voice wasn't as loud as it usually was. Hell, he sounded downright withdrawn. When Eddie hung up, he chuckled to himself, imagining all the stupid reasons the King of Hawkins High could have to be in a bad mood.
He got turned down by a girl. Or he lost a basketball game. Or both in the same weekend. Now that would fuckin' hurt. If Eddie knows anything about Billy Hargrove, it's that he can't stand losing—period.
So when Hargrove swaggers into the clearing with a cigarette in his mouth, a black eye, and a row of stitches in his right eyebrow, Eddie isn't surprised, exactly. But he still kind of is.
He sits up straight at the picnic table. "Holy shit, dude," he exclaims, then immediately regrets it.
Hargrove ignores him. Approaching the table, he sits down with a long, low sigh, the kind a man makes when he's had it up to here with people's bullshit.
"You got the goods?" he mumbles around his cig.
"Yup. Got a fresh batch over the weekend."
Hargrove fishes out his wallet and flips it open. Eddie glances down right as he's digging out a twenty.
"Oh, uh. Twenty-five for the half," Eddie says.
Hargrove looks up, plucking his cig out of his mouth. "Last time you said twenty."
"Economics, my dude. Prices go up and down with the market. I know, it's insanity."
A muscle twitches in Hargrove's jaw. With slow, measured movements, he pulls out the ragged bill and flashes it between his fingers.
"I only brought twenty," he says darkly.
Eddie glances between the money and the stitches in Hargrove's eyebrow. For a moment his survival instinct babbles at him to give in. Just give in this one time. Keep the king happy.
Then he shuts the lid of his lunchbox.
"Sorry. No can do."
Hargrove leans back, a cold gleam in his bruised eye.
"Your friends got money, right?" Eddie says. "Those rich SOBs on the basketball team? So hit 'em up and come back. I'll wait."
Hargrove closes his fist around the twenty, making it crinkle. Eddie's heart pounds, and his survival instinct starts babbling again. He's about to lose it. He’s had it up to here with the bullshit. Calm the beast before he kills you. Give in, give in!
He stymies it with a cocky smile.
"I'll even take change," he announces, gesturing expansively. "I'll sound like a jingle bell when I walk, but hey, what can I say? I'm feeling generous today."
Hargrove stares at him. Eddie tries not to wither under it, even though he knows he's being sized up, his weaknesses noted and tallied. Hargrove's good at that, making you feel like he can see every exposed artery, like they're all within reach of his razor-sharp claws.
Finally, Hargrove looks out at the woods. Eddie lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"I've got a better idea." Hargrove drags on his cig. "You give me the half for twenty. And I'll make your biggest problem go away."
Eddie frowns. Wait, what?
"My 'biggest problem'?" he asks.
"Jason Carver. His boys have been making school a living hell for your friends lately." Hargrove blows out smoke. "I'll make 'em stop."
Eddie's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "You'll make them stop?"
Hargrove glances at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
"It's that easy for you?" Eddie asks, his voice tight with disbelief.
Hargrove shrugs.
"And you'd do it for five dollars?"
"What can I say? I'm feeling generous today. Though maybe—" Hargrove licks his lip "—next time I show up with nothin' but a goddamn twenty to my name, you'll be more... charitable."
Eddie blinks, feeling dizzy, like he's standing on the edge of Wonderland. Jesus, Hargrove must be desperate. Last week he barely even acknowledged Eddie's existence. Now he's offering to change his friends' lives? The opportunity alone is worth way more than twenty percent off a bag of weed.
Eddie throws open his lunchbox.
"Shit, man," he says. "If you really deliver on this, I'll be the one getting the deal, not you."
Goods exchange hands. Eddie stuffs the money in his pocket. Hargrove tucks the bag in his jacket, springs up from the bench, and walks away.
Well shit, nice doing business with you, too.
Before he reaches the edge of the clearing, Eddie calls, "Hey, um. Can I ask you something?"
Hargrove stops and glances over his shoulder.
Eddie spreads his hands. "Why? I'm not the only schmuck with weed at this school. You could've found a cheaper price in half an hour. So—" he grins "—why the favor?"
Hargrove's look darkens to a glower.
"I fuckin' hate Jason Carver."
Shoving his cig in his mouth, he swaggers out of the clearing.
Eddie's grin fades. As Hargrove disappears into the trees, he closes his lunchbox, props his elbows on the table, and folds his hands together, thinking.
#billy hargrove#eddie munson#billy hargrove fic#eddie munson fic#stranger things fic#jason carver#assortedfruitsnacks212
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The Mom Trap - Part 1
Grief is an inevitable evil of life. It's one thing everyone will experience at one point or another and for an array of reasons. Grief can be experienced in the loss of a person, the emotional loss of a relationship, and even the loss of a former season of life. My story ties the first and last together.
You see, I became a mother fairly young by today's standards. I got pregnant with my daughter at 23 and had her just before I turned 24. It was the greatest joy to bring a life into the world knowing she was ours, that we would get to raise her and be there for every moment as she grew. There was a lot of excitement early on. Don't get me wrong, every day brings something new, but the initial excitement of motherhood does ware off after a while and most moms, especially stay-at-home moms like myself are left with this sudden huge life change. All moms at one point had a life beyond being a mom. We were a friend, a daughter, a sister, a wife. We were able to go out with friends, and have last minute date nights with our spouse. Then one day, this little life changes all of that and moms are told that their identity is now in being a mother. We wake up every morning when they do; we are the chef, the maid, the chauffeur, the laundry attendant, the therapist etc. Suddenly our days are filled with taking care of others and leaving our care by the wayside to make sure each person has what they need. The ugly truth of this is...most moms don't love it. It's not that we don't take pride in our homes and in taking care of those we love, but losing one's identity in those things means forgetting sometimes why we were created in the first place.
Our identity isn't in being a mom, but a follower of Jesus. Our identity is in him who created us in his image. He never intended for our days to be filled with so much stress and chaos that we can't think straight.
Here's where I will really make some people mad. Jesus never said we can't grieve over who we once were. Does he tell us to take joy in our work? Absolutely! But he doesn't insist on us losing ourselves in it. Being a mom in some ways does require us to put down who we were to walk in a new season of life with our little ones. But like the subtle fade of summer into fall, we will lost ourselves in the new season if we aren't careful.
Let's not forget that we are simultaneously setting an example for our children that they will take into life with them. If we don't find our God given purpose and live that our whilst being a mother, how can we expect our children to live our theirs well when as they grow and mature? If all they see is the anger and frustration boiling over because every last minute of every day is spent with little to no boundaries between mother and child, they will one day allow themselves to fall into the pit of grief over the loss of themselves, whether in a relationship, or in parenthood themselves. The last thing we want as parents is for our children to re live the same traumas we had.
So take a second, or a minute, or as long as you need, to acknowledge that what you're feeling is so very real. Acknowledge that it's okay to feel this way, all the while seeking your God-given purpose so you can come out a better mom, a better spouse, a better friend, and most importantly, a better you.

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Funeral Sermon for Rusty (6/27/22)
Primary Text | Isaiah 43:1-3a, 18-19
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Dear People of God,
We are gathered today at the sudden death of Rusty. A dear husband. A father. A grandfather. A friend. A coworker. He was many things to many people. This certainly isn’t an easy gathering. We would be happier if this guy had many more years under his belt. His sudden death reminds us that every day we have is precious, to enjoy the moment, to be grateful for what really matters in life—because you never know when you will meet your last day--or when your loved one will meet their last day. Today we will mourn, because we need to mourn, we need to grieve, and be sad—for someone dear to us is gone. I also hope you will find time to laugh, and give thanks for who Rusty was to you. He was indeed God’s gift for you, to bless you, and make you happy. And so, today, we also consider what God has to say. We consider what God’s good news is for your bad situation.
First of all, we acknowledge that God is the one who created Rusty. The LORD is he who endowed Rusty with his many gifts and talents. God is the one who made him a loving husband who would be willing to do things for his wife that he might have considered foolish, but would do it anyway because it would make her happy. God is the one who made him the both stern and compassionate dad, who would take care of his children and grandchildren. Whether Rusty realized it or not, it was God who graciously formed him out of nothing and made him to be a blessing to those in his life; God placed him in your life for a reason. And the same God who created Rusty is also your Creator. He is not some distant, indifferent being to what you are going through, but he is here right now in your suffering as you cry and feel the pain. For God is most profoundly with us in suffering.
Here the word of the LORD: “When you pass through waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior” (Isa. 43:2-3a). This is indeed God’s holy promise to you. For, in Christ, nothing can separate you from God’s love. God has staked his name on his promises, and therefore nothing can undo what God so graciously, so warmly, so tenderly, has given you. Even when life becomes unbearable, even when suffering is all you can feel, even when you can’t see anything good around you, all is hopeless—God’s promise to you remains true. For the God we know in Jesus Christ is the hope of the hopeless, the strength of those who are weak, the one who holds you close to his beating heart—so that nothing can harm you. No river shall overwhelm you, no fire shall burn you.
Finally, we have this promise: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isa. 43:18-19). Dear people, dear Kathy, dear Delilah, dear Sean, dear Tom, and all those who loved Rusty…things will not always be as they are now. Unexpected death will never even be heard of. In the new thing God is doing, a grandfather and grandchild will be able to play free of any cares. In the new thing God is doing, a wife will never again endure the abrupt loss of her husband. Dreadful things will be unheard of, even forgotten. God will make a way in the wilderness—no more gaps to separate us, no more thorns will dig into us. God will put rivers in the desert—giving of himself water to refresh our souls. And now, this God who has made himself known in Jesus Christ, gives you his peace, freely, and without charge. Forgives you all your sins, freely, and without charge. Death is not an easy thing. It will be hard in the days to come. But while you walk through this valley of the shadow of death, you need not fear—for the LORD your shepherd is with you. He prepares a table for you in the presence of your enemies—that is, no matter what you face that scares or saddens you, God is faithful yet! And he will be there for you in the roughest of times. He anoints your head with oil, and gives you his goodness and mercy.
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@jellydeans:
so are cas and jimmy novak just up in heaven existing at the same time
@katebushstandean:
#jimmy moves to heaven timbuku so that dean stops trying to make out with him every time they run into each other at the heaven grocery store
LINK
Thanks for letting me write this, guys!!
AO3 (2.1k)
The thing about Heaven was that it was whatever you wanted it to be, and most of its residents wanted it to be familiar.
Technically, Dean didn’t need to fill his car up on gas anymore, but there was still a gas station just down the street from where his new home was placed. He didn’t need to sleep, but he still had a large king-sized bed he made sure to make use of at least once a day. He didn’t need to eat, but there was a thriving supermarket that catered to whatever he was feeling like eating and always boasted the freshest ingredients for when he wanted to get a little fancy with his cooking.
Like today, for example.
Bobby had said he doubted Dean could make a proper souffle, so obviously Dean had to make the old man eat his words - and a souffle.
Dean stared at all of the different options of eggs, trying to decide if “free-range” vs. “organic” actually meant anything in Heaven, or if it was just meant to give him some sort of familiarity.
He grabbed the “free-range” option and moved on to the dairy.
There was movement out of the corner of his eye in the meat section across the way, and the way his heart stopped in his chest when he turned to look would have killed him if he wasn’t already dead.
It was Cas.
Cas, who Dean had spent every day thinking about since he’d left. Cas, who Dean had been trying to find ever since Bobby told him he was still around. Cas, who Dean still had unfinished business with.
He’d spend hours in bed, staring at the ceiling of his room and rehearsing just what he’d say when he saw him again, but in those scenarios Cas had shown up on his doorstep or in the passenger seat of his car where they could have a moment to just be .
He’d never been buying hamburger meat.
Dean rushed forward, cart forgotten, and skidded to a halt in front of Cas, just as he looked up in surprise.
“I love you -” Dean said in a rush, heart pounding, head reeling, “Of course I love you. You’re - fuck - you’re everything I could ever want and I’m - I’m so damn sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t have me, too.”
Cas blinked at him, and it was in that moment Dean realized something was wrong.
His expression, his hair, the way he moved, the way he was dressed - all of it was wrong.
None of it was Cas, he’d just been too overwhelmed to see it.
“Oh, uh... hey Dean,” Not-Cas said, and finished putting his selected meat in his basket, “I didn’t didn’t know that you died. Um, if you’re looking for Castiel -“
Dean turned and ran out of the store.
*
What were the fucking chances that in all of Heaven, he and Cas’s old vessel were neighbors?
Dean gunned the gas pedal on his car as he drove endlessly, trying to walk himself through what exactly had happened the day before.
Jimmy Novak was here.
Jimmy Novak who - last Dean checked - hated him.
Dean had just spewed his feelings all over him without even thinking about the possibility that he wasn’t Cas. He’d been wearing a sweater vest for crying out loud - but he was willing to forgive himself for that one because he didn’t really know how Cas would dress if he had the choice.
His hopes had soared so high when he’d seen the familiar figure, only to be dashed the moment Jimmy had opened his mouth. They sounded absolutely nothing alike - and Dean yearned for the deep gravel of Castiel’s greeting.
Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened.
Where was Cas?
Didn’t he know that there was nothing keeping them apart now?
In what could only be an act of fate smiling down on him, Dean zoomed around a corner near the Heavenly library, and instantly had to stomp on the brakes of the Impala as a trenchcoat-clad figure stepped into the previously empty crosswalk.
Old habits die hard - Dean was still going to brake for Heavenly pedestrians, especially ones that looked like Cas.
Cas turned to look at him, eyes wide, and Dean shoved the driver’s side door open in a panic. The trench coat was unmistakable this time.
“Cas! Cas - don’t go okay? I gotta -“
Cas shook his head sharply and let out a breath.
“No - Jesus Christ - it’s still me, you idiot.”
Dean gaped at him as his brain tried to catch up with the conflicting bits of information it was processing.
“...what?” He heard himself saying.
Had he just wanted it to be Cas so bad that he’d ignored all the signs?
Jimmy gestured at himself like it was enough of an explanation.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“But - but you’re wearing his trenchcoat! ” Dean said, waved at it like maybe Jimmy hadn’t realized he was walking around as the mockery of the angel who’d once shared a living space with him.
Jimmy placed an affronted hand on his own chest.
“It was my trenchcoat!”
Frustration boiled inside of him and Dean quickly slid back into the car and slammed the door shut behind him.
He sped off, once again running from what could have been.
*
Dean was sulking under a pile of blankets in his bed when there was a knock at his door.
He ignored it.
After a few moments of silence, the knocking came again, louder and more insistent this time.
Grumbling to himself, Dean threw the blankets off and trudged down the stairs, flinging open the door with a scowl.
A person with nearly combed hair was standing on the doorstep holding a six-pack of beer in one hand and had a sticker on his shirt that said, ‘Hello, my name is Jimmy’.
“Very funny.” Dean said flatly.
“It’s not funny. It’s just in case you try to kiss me or something.” Jimmy held up the six-pack expectantly. “Can I come in?”
Dean didn’t appreciate the ribbing, but he didn’t mind the beer.
And after accosting him twice he might as well let the guy do what he wanted.
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grumbled and left the door open as he walked back inside and flopped onto his couch. “Why are you here? Don’t you hate me?”
Jimmy hummed as he set the beer down on the coffee table and took a seat opposite Dean.
“I don’t not hate you.” He said with a shrug. “But last time we talked you were trying to convince me to chain myself to a comet again and I can’t say I appreciated it.”
Dean grunted in acknowledgment.
“I’ve been in heaven for a while now. It’s nice here. I take a yoga class with my wife.” Jimmy smiled at him. “I think I’m in a much better mental space now to consider liking you, especially if we’re going to be neighbors.”
Dean winced.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like Jimmy, it was just… that was Cas’s face. It wasn’t , but it was. Was he really going to have to be constantly taunted with it?
“Look man - I’m sorry about - you know. That.” Dean waved a hand in the air generally. “But you don’t have to do all this. I’ll stop harassing you.”
“That would be nice,” Jimmy said, opening one of the cans and taking a swig, “So, considering the things you’ve said to me, I take it he finally told you he loved you?”
Dean paused, still raw every time he thought about it.
“You knew?”
Jimmy smirked.
“That angel’s love for you permeated both of our beings so potently I’m amazed I don’t love you.” Jimmy said, like it was the kind of fact you could drop casually. “Though even I will admit, as a happily married heterosexual man, that having a man as handsome as you proclaim your love to me in the middle of a grocery store was very exciting.”
Dean dropped his head into his hands and groaned loudly.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Jimmy said, “That first one was pretty good. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”
“He’s never gonna hear it.” Dean muttered.
“Sure he will. You’ve already practiced it twice.”
“I can’t find him!” Dean said, and looked back up, “He’s here somewhere, and I can’t find him. It’s killing me.”
Jimmy held out a beer can.
“Good thing you’re already dead.”
Begrudgingly, Dean accepted the beer and opened it.
“I just. . . I just wanna see him again.” Dean took a long drink. “I want to talk to him. Tell him everything. Share everything. If he wants that.”
Dean let out a long breath, expecting Jimmy to interject with a quip.
He looked over at him when nothing happened, and Jimmy was smiling at him in a way that Dean could only describe as ‘fond’.
“What?” Dean said, indignantly.
“Nothing.” Jimmy said innocently. “You’re just not what I expected.”
Dean looked away.
“Anyway, you asked why I’m here,” Jimmy took another drink, “I’ve seen Castiel.”
“What?” Dean jumped to his feet, beer can dropped to the floor and forgotten about. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“I’m an enigma,” Jimmy shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the plush chair, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know as someone who has literally been in Castiel’s head - I'm pretty sure I know the reason he’s not showing himself to you.”
“Well, fucking spill.”
Jimmy paused.
“Why do you love him?”
Of all the things Dean had been expecting Jimmy to say - this wasn’t it.
Dean sat back down.
“Why?” He asked, a little breathless. “Why does it matter?”
Jimmy shrugged again.
“I guess -” Dean said, trying to unspool his emotions from the knot they’d made in his heart, “He’s - he’s Cas. He cares . . . so much about everyone and - and he’s selfless and kind and he fucking saved me in more ways than just one. He’s always been there for me and Sam and he’s just… he’s just. He’s just good . I’ll never deserve him, but I want to try.”
Dean sucked in a deep breath.
“He pulls me away from the edge, man. I just love him.”
Jimmy nodded once, set down his beer can, and in a bizarre turn of events, began yelling at Dean’s ceiling.
“Did you hear that, Castiel? Not one goddamn thing about how you look! Nothing about me or my vessel!”
Dean stared, dumbfounded.
“Wh-”
“He doesn’t care what you look like! Can you please just come talk to him so I can stop playing marriage counselor for you two?”
Care how he - what?
What was happening?
Before Dean could fully compile all of the new information, there was a hesitant knock at the front door.
Dean whipped his head towards Jimmy, who was smiling in satisfaction.
Nearly tripping over himself, Dean rushed to the door faster than he’d rushed towards anything in his life, and swung it open.
In front of him was the wavelength of celestial intent that Dean had always known existed inside of the vessel of Jimmy Novak - the glint of angelic creation he’d caught glimpses of in the glow of his eyes and in his healing touch. The being was massive and stretched high into the sky with what was (maybe three? four??) pairs of wings scraping the clouds even further above everything. He was flaming rings and rotating divine faces that Dean could barely comprehend - he was raw power and all-knowing eyes.
On the front of his form was a sticker that read, ‘Hello, my name is Castiel’.
“. . . Hello Dean.” The voice rumbled through the air like thunder.
“Cas?” Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I - yes. I’m sorry. I lost my vessel to the Empty - this was the only way -”
“I love you, too.”
The rotating faces on the form towering above him froze in place.
“I do! I love you, Cas. Okay? You didn’t let me say it back before - and if I’ve ever made you feel like I couldn’t love you back, I’m so fucking sorry. You deserve better.”
“. . . you love me?”
Dean nodded, his heart clenching at the disbelief he could hear in Cas’s voice.
“ Even as this?”
“You’ve always been this.” Dean swallowed. “I fell in love with the angel, not the vessel.”
“Dean. . .”
Dean smiled up at him in understanding.
“Just a shame that we’ll have to get a bigger house.”
“Oh I can -”
And as Dean looked on, Castiel began to shrink. The form didn’t change - he was still as striking as he’d been the first time with his wings and halos and faces still firmly in place - but he was now maybe one foot taller than Dean instead of one hundred.
“- make myself more manageable.”
Dean grinned and took a step forward, giddy and thrilled that this was finally, actually happening
He reached up, resting a hand on one of the divine faces.
“Bite-sized.” He murmured fondly.
Jimmy’s voice cut through the moment from somewhere behind them.
“Just so you two know - I. Am. Moving!”
#spn#destiel#destiel ficlet#spn coda#jimmy novak#akasdflks I barely know what this is guys I'm sorry#sometimes I write
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Could you talk about the Statute of Secrecy? Or the Ministry’s corruption in General :)
Well, those are two different things. Given that I believe I have an ask floating somewhere in my inbox on the Statute, I suppose we’ll talk about the Ministry of Magic today.
I feel like this is such a broad topic though that I’m not quite sure where to start. I guess I’ll just throw spaghetti at the internet wall and see what sticks.
The Ministry is a Reflection of Society Who Never Admitted They Were the Death Eaters
In the ministry of Harry Potter’s era the Ministry is hopelessly corrupt and filled to the brim with spies (more on this in a later section). Lucius Malfoy, very high up in an unofficial capacity in the Ministry and owner of the Ministry’s mouth piece: The Daily Prophet, was a known Death Eater with a very flimsy excuse.
How is he even able to wield so much influence, you ask? Well, I think it’s not just because of Fudge picking the wrong friends.
I think most the population probably does believe Lucius Malfoy is innocent the way Fudge does. I think it’s a very small subsection, i.e. Dumbledore’s lackies, who go “Nah, ain’t buying it.” I think that, in 1981, when it came time to reveal just how many were Death Eaters and how far this went many people just couldn’t handle it.
Because it was to the point where the nation wasn’t battling Death Eaters, Death Eaters were the nation. Look at the members, these are and were the most influential and prominent families in the country, who combined hold a non-small minority of seats in the Wizengamot. More, these were only the participants, combine those who given anti-muggle and muggleborn sentiment (which I believe are pervasive even among those who claim they fight for the rights of muggles and muggleborns) and you get a nation that is suddenly facing a huge cultural issue that was never previously acknowledged.
We’re talking an entire purge of the Wizengamot, of the Ministry, of the major families and cornerstones of this society. The Black family is completely and utterly destroyed.
People were and remain throughout the 1990′s, desperate to believe it was not as bad as it was or isn’t as bad as it is. If Lucius Malfoy says he was never really a Death Eater then he was never really a Death Eater.
The Ministry is Lousy With Corruption and Spies
What’s hilarious to me is not only is the Ministry incompetent. It is positively flooded with spies. Given the ministry’s overbloated, it’s not even a sizeable minority of employees, but nonetheless every major department has at least one person (if not more) who works for somebody else.
Most work for Tom Riddle. He seems to have intelligence in every department. Through Lucius, who is working pretty much as an unofficial aide to Fudge, he has access to Fudge, complete control of the Daily Prophet, and a voice on the Hogwarts’ board of governors.
Through Rockwood, Tom has direct access to the Department of Mysteries which Lucius is then able to take full advantage of.
Lucius is able to set up an ambush in the Department of Mysteries, getting escaped convicts into the building with the none the wiser, and, had his sole purpose not been a prophecy that only Harry Potter and the Dark Lord can touch, he would have been able to take what he liked. (Though it was always odd to me that the plan was to get Harry Potter to do it, when the better solution would have been to polyjuice Tom Riddle into someone else, set up a tour with the department, and then Tom wanders off conveniently to pick up the prophecy. My theory, I suppose, is that chasing after the prophecy was mostly an exercise in punishing Lucius. And then Lucius fucked up.)
And of course, in book seven, Tom Riddle makes a puppet minister. Point being, to me, it always said a lot that in Book Seven Tom just sort of walks into the building and says, “I’m in charge now” and everyone says “okay”. There was no second Wizarding War, it was a bloodless coup that met zero resistance from anyone but angry school children.
But that’s Tom’s spies, we also have other spies. Who am I talking about, Dumbledore’s folks of course.
Shacklebolt, Moody, Tonks, and Arthur Weasley are all spies, they just don’t have the introspection to even realize it (which really tells you something about the state of corruption in the ministry). They all work for the ministry, yes, but they in fact pass on information to and serve another master, whose goals do not always align with the government and was a hop skip and a jump away from overthrowing the government at any given moment.
And they don’t even really realize they’re doing this! There doesn’t even seem to be a thought of “I’m doing this for the greater good”, they don’t seem to acknowledge that what they’re doing is very very very bad. Arthur, in fact, is appalled when Percy refuses to do this (well, he’s upset for a lot of reasons, such as that he thinks Percy is spying on Arthur for the minister, but in there is also that Percy refuses to help out with the Order or follow Dumbledore without question).
Harry paints the Dumbledore’s Army threat that Umbridge saw as something utterly ridiculous, but honestly if I was the ministry I would be worried about this. Dumbledore’s people have infiltrated the ministry just as deeply and badly as the Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s known for recruiting children into his vigilante organization, I don’t know what he’s doing with an army of schoolchildren but I can smell a coup coming.
Anyway, I’m getting off track, point being though that corruption is not only expected and accepted by the ministry, they cannot recognize what it even is. They’re at the point where paying bribes is allocated in their budget.
I Don’t Blame the Ministry For Not Thinking Tom Riddle Was Anti-Jesus
Fudge is designed to get a lot of flack for his outright denial that Voldemort had returned from the dead. He, and other denier characters, are meant to be fools with their heads in the sand who can’t see the obvious.
I ask what about it was obvious?
The only witness to Tom Riddle’s resurrection, Harry Potter, has a known history of erratic behavior.
The previous year, he’d performed illegal magic on his muggle aunt and run away from home. During the previous school year, Harry was revealed to be a parselmouth in a time when the Chamber of Secrets was presumably opened and the mystery was never fully solved (remember, that it was a possessed Ginny never comes to light for more than a few people.) Beyond that, since his first day of school, Harry is routinely in and out of detention, constantly out after curfew, and only seems to not be in serious trouble because he’s openly favored by Dumbledore (who gives him hundreds of points for breaking one of his school rules, during the Philosopher’s Stone fiasco in first year). In 1994, Harry is entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament under very suspicious circumstances.
We know why all this happens to Harry but from the outside he looks like a delinquent. In fact, he kind of is a delinquent.
Point being, the only witness is not only Harry Potter (who is already sketch) but it’s Harry Potter holding a dead body of a rival in the tournament.
And he’s claiming that a man who has been nearly fifteen years dead, a man who held the nation in terror and Harry Potter is beloved for destroying, has returned from the grave and conveniently murdered Cedric.
Why is Cedric dead? Well, you see, he and Harry both touched the goblet at the same time because they were going to share the reward. The goblet, a national treasure, was turned into a portkey so that Voldemort could kidnap him.
Why didn’t Voldemort just kidnap him at any other point during the year where he’s guaranteed not to get tag a longs or the wrong kid? Uh... VOLDEMORT IS BACK (for the record, I think it’s because Barty got hung up on the goblet scheme and was determined to ruin his father’s day.)
Where is Voldemort at this very moment? Being evil, somewhere, that is not right here. No, Harry has zero evidence this happened.
Frankly, I wouldn’t believe Harry either.
And when Dumbledore goes about promoting this as sound evidence that Tom Riddle has in fact returned, it starts to get even sketchier. Rather than sounding the alarm, Dumbledore is using this boy’s madness to stir the public into a panic that he, perhaps, plans to take advantage of.
After Dumbledore does that, I would suspect that, even if Harry does give me a memory of the graveyard scene that his head had been tampered with by Dumbledore.
And it’s so convenient that, of all the names Harry picked, it’s Voldemort who killed Cedric. It seems like a ploy to not only deflect the fact that he murdered Cedric but
Harry’s very upset when some don’t take him at his word but Harry’s also a dumbass and a psychopath. He hates everyone who doesn’t agree with him.
More importantly, necromancy isn’t a thing in the Harry Potter universe. People don’t rise from the dead. Horcruxes exist, but they’re extremely rare, and it seems like no one ever really makes use of them.
So, yeah, not unreasonable that Fudge didn’t immediately go, “My god, Voldemort has risen from the dead! LIGHT THE BEACONS AND SUMMON ROHAN!”
So yeah, it’d take me seeing Voldemort waltzing through the Department Mysteries to go “... Goddammit, this man is more unkillable than Sheev Palpatine.”
After the Epilogue, I am Certain It’s Still the Same Damn Ministry
People hate the epilogue, but in a way, I love it, because it confirms many of my headcanons: these people don’t learn a goddamn thing.
Nothing in their society seems to have changed. Instead of one set of families holding all the power it’s now a new set of families and friends holding all the power. The difference being that they are now all in some way connected to Harry Potter.
Nepotism’s still the name of the game, we still see only human children boarding the Hogwarts Express so you know shit hasn’t changed for the goblins, Draco Malfoy’s alive and well and holds a position in the Ministry that Kingsly graciously allows him to have, it’s just now you have Hermione writing all your laws for you.
The Wizarding World is still the Wizarding World in every single capacity. The only difference is that Voldemort is dead again. Hooray.
Harry and friends simply don’t have the introspection to even realize it.
#harry potter#harry potter meta#harry potter headcanon#the ministry of magic#cornelius fudge#albus dumbledore#anti albus dumbledore#anti harry potter#voldemort#tom riddle#lucius malfoy#harry potter epilogue#meta#headcanon#opinion#the wizarding world
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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 20: Nattduksbord
Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E
This means something; Mulder can feel it.
This signifies a shift in their relationship; a step forward, from platonic partners to a romantic couple. It’s a shared experience that has the potential to change their dynamic forever. Years of trust, fighting together against a common enemy, seeking the truth… it could all come crashing down today, in a shopping mall in Woodbridge, Virginia.
They’re going to IKEA.
Summer is on the rise, and the humidity is close to stifling as they buckle into his car. Scully’s wearing a little striped t-shirt, capri pants, and sandals, revealing sky blue painted toes. For a disorienting moment Mulder wonders if he’s going to develop a foot fetish. Probably not, but Dana Scully could make even the most vanilla of men want to do crazy things.
“Do you have your shopping list?” Scully asks as he starts the car.
He pulls the folded scrap of paper out of the chest pocket of his white t-shirt. “Right here,” he replies, eyes darting over to her for one more look as he holds out the list.
She takes it, catching his eyes momentarily. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asks.
I want to suck your toes. “You look nice today, that’s all.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
Scully can probably tell he’s desperate for her; she can read him like a dog-eared, yellowed paperback. He’s simultaneously grateful for her sharp instincts and embarrassed by his carnal desires. He hasn’t gotten laid in four years, and he fears he’ll be too eager when the time comes. As it is, he can barely believe she’s let him have even the smallest glimpses of her as a sexual being. She’s intoxicating, and he’s dizzy with the knowledge that this beautiful, brilliant, downright edible woman actually wants him. Him, a mortal man of aliens and bad ties and a porn collection that’s gradually becoming least seventy-five percent redheads. A man without a bed.
Hence their Saturday morning pilgrimage to the shrine where all new couples journey to find furnishings, low prices, and themselves.
“So, we’re looking for one tall bookshelf, a locking filing cabinet, a bed, and two night tables,” Scully reads. She refolds the paper and reaches across him to tuck it back into his shirt pocket. “That’s clearly not all going to fit in this car,” she notes.
“I’ll get the bigger stuff delivered,” he says.
It’s only a twenty minute drive from Mulder’s place, and they have the air-conditioning on. Mulder is starting to relax; it’s been a long time since he’s had a partner, in the domestic sense, and he’d forgotten that it makes the mundane more bearable.
Scully clears her throat almost imperceptibly. “I’m proud of you, by the way.”
“Really? Why?” Mulder asks.
“You managed to get rid of a lot of stuff,” she says, turning up the dial on the car’s air conditioner. “And organization is very clearly not your strong suit, so progress should be acknowledged and celebrated.”
“Yippee,” Mulder deadpans.
“You know, it’s odd; we’ve known each other for all these years and I never asked… why don’t you have a bed, Mulder?”
There it is, the question he knew would come up at some point. He clears his throat, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “I, uh… I lived with someone, around ‘91. Another agent, actually. We were together for a while, and then one day she took some assignment in Europe and that was that. I got rid of everything that was hers, and that, uh, included the bed.” Technically our bed, he thinks. He winces. He’s never talked to Scully about Diana before, and he wonders if she’ll be upset that he was withholding such a large piece of personal information.
Scully is quiet. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “That’s… I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry I never mentioned it,” Mulder says. “It’s not like it’s some big painful secret. I just… don’t really think about her anymore.”
“It’s alright,” Scully says. “I think it’s best for these kinds of things to come up naturally. And… I was dating someone when we met,” Scully confesses. “We broke up as soon as I got back from Bellefleur.”
Mulder looks at her quickly. “Really? Why?”
She furrows her brow. “Multiple reasons, but primarily I realized that this job, my assignment, was bigger than I’d anticipated. And the things you and I went through together, the things I’d seen… when I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to be tied down to him. To have to go home and have this man ask me how my day was, as though he could ever understand even half of what we do.”
“So you chose the job over him,” Mulder muses.
“In essence… I chose you,” Scully points out. “Whether I knew it then or not. I’d never be able to turn my back on you.”
Mulder exhales slowly. He’s strangely moved.
“Take a left at the next light,” Scully prompts softly. “And yes, I do realize the irony in breaking things off with a man because of his normalcy, only to continue trying to date so-called ‘normal’ men.”
Mulder shrugs. “No, it makes sense. Maybe he just wasn’t right for you, but the next normal guy could be, right?”
“Right,” Scully sighs. “Einstein’s definition of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.”
“I’ve been led to believe that being with me is another type of insanity,” Mulder points out. “And objectively, I can’t disagree.”
“You do make me crazy,” Scully agrees, voice low. “But that’s not always a bad thing.” He feels her small hand squeeze his thigh. “And I fully intend to return the favor.”
Mulder lets out a quiet groan, hands sweaty on the steering wheel. “You planning on giving me some roadside assistance, Agent Scully? Because I’m gonna need it if you keep doing that.”
She removes her hand, tucks her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t do anything,” she says innocently.
“Uh huh.” He pulls into the IKEA parking lot. “Well, we’re here. You ready?”
“As ready as a person can be for a labyrinthian furniture store on a muggy Saturday,” she replies.
-
���This is fucking ridiculous,” Mulder says from his spot on the bedroom floor, surrounded by scattered pieces of a ‘HOLLEBY’ bedside table. “These instructions are useless and-” he flips through the booklet, “-thirty-two pages long, Jesus.”
Scully doesn’t respond; her eyes are glued to her own manual as she assembles a drawer from the second of the two nightstands. “Shh,” she hushes him softly. “I’m concentrating.”
“How have you managed to put any of these pieces together?” he asks, scooting across the floor to her. “There aren’t even words, just vague illustrations.”
She has a screw between her lips as she lines up two of the wood pieces. “I took wood shop in high school,” she says around the metal pin. She removes it and inserts it into a pre-drilled hole. “I guess that was some kind of preparation for assembling flatpack furniture?”
“That’s adorable,” Mulder says, rising to open a window. The room is stuffy with the day’s heat, and his t-shirt is glued to his back. “Do you still have any of the things you made in class?”
“The step stool in my kitchen,” she replies. “And my mom might have some things I’ve forgotten about.”
He casually strips off his sweaty t-shirt and tosses it in the laundry basket. “Remind me to look at that stool the next time we’re at your place,” he says. “Also I’m gonna order a pizza, you interested?”
Scully looks up at him then and is seemingly surprised by the absence of his shirt. “It’s hot in here,” Mulder explains, almost defensive.
“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Scully says, eyes shamelessly traveling his torso. “And I’m always interested.”
“Are we still talking about pizza here, or…”
“Make my half one with everything, please,” she says, attention returning to her project.
“Wait a minute,” he says, dropping to his knees next to her on the carpet. “I’m not done here.” He leans in and presses his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, tasting the salt on her skin. How she can still smell so good on a sticky June day, he doesn’t know; but he wants to lick her entire body.
“Mulder,” she sighs, putting down her screwdriver, “You’re distracting me.”
“That’s the idea,” he says, lips wandering up her neck and behind her ear. He flicks his tongue against her earlobe. “Forget the furniture, honey,” he says, all hot breath and lust. “We don’t need it for what I have in mind.”
Suddenly she’s facing him, looping her arms around his neck. “I’m doing this for you,” she purrs. “Do you think I like putting together IKEA furniture? No one likes it, Mulder. It’s like a multidimensional jigsaw puzzle.”
He pulls her onto his lap. “Oh, but I think you do,” he says, nibbling her ear. “You like being capable Doctor Scully, in charge of things… showing me what those hands can do.”
She leans in, licking his full lower lip. “Not everything is about you, Mulder,” she says, pressing a scorching kiss to his mouth. “I’m just doing my coworker a favor.”
“Is that what they call this nowadays?” he asks, hands clasping her hips as she grinds down on his lap.
She shuts him up with a kiss, the furniture and pizza forgotten.
#god this took me FOREVER#lol I’m busy freaking out over my second covid shot okay don’t @ me#my fic#fmcr#xfiles#txf fic#fox mulder closet romantic#msr#they go to ikea
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you didn’t kiss her back
wordcount: 2.5k
warnings: mentions of nsfw content, brooklyn :/
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In hindsight, he should have known.
He should have known when Brooklyn texted him the group invite for dinner in a separate text thread, not the intern groupchat, but he was too busy with work that day to even question it. Just liked the message as his usual form of RSVP.
He should have known when Brooklyn was ultra-polite to him at work that day, not adding any of her usual flirty comments or going out of her way to stroll by his desk. Instead, he was too caught up in work assignments and trying to figure out how late he could FaceTime Sophie that night without waking her up.
After the workday, Rafe was walking out to his car when Brooklyn jogged after him to catch up. “Hey, Rafe, wait up!”
He grimaced but turned around - he’d learnt to just deal with her presence over time. “What?”
“Um, my car’s almost out of gas and I don’t think I’ll make it to the restaurant and be able to make it home. Would you be able to give me a ride?” She asked, almost shyly.
Rafe calculated the drive time in his head. Eight minutes. “Uh...yeah. That’s fine.” He nodded shortly, then nodded his head in the direction of his car.
Brooklyn gave him a grateful smile, matching his quick pace to the car. “How was work for you today?”
“Fine.” Once he got in the car he dropped the act, just turning up the radio so they didn’t have to make more small talk. Just being near her made him feel on edge - the same way he often felt around his father. She reached out to touch his arm and he flinched away, making her giggle. “Someone’s tense.”
“Can you not?”
She rolled her eyes. “Touchy.”
“I’m trying to be civil here.” He remarked.
“Hm.” She let him sit in silence for a solid half minute, then spoke up again. “I saw Sophia posted some picture of her wearing a Cartier ring on her Instagram. Did you pay for that?” Brooklyn pushed, sounding almost nervous.
Rafe shrugged. “So what if I did?”
“You never bought me designer.” She glanced at her nails, trying to appear nonchalant.
He snorted. “You can buy yourself designer things just fine. We both know that.”
“Not the same.” She mumbled, then opened her mouth only to let out a sigh. “It’s just - never mind.”
He looked over with an annoyed glance, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “What.”
“Surely your dad doesn’t approve?”
Rafe tensed and she resisted a smile, knowing she had struck a nerve. Exactly what she wanted. “Since when have I cared about my dad’s approval?”
He might have gotten away with that with someone else, but Brooklyn could read him well. Too well. She’d seen him deal with his dad’s disappointment only a few times, - Ward was always on his best behavior whenever she was around, the model of a perfect parent.
Brooklyn laughed at that, shaking her head. “You’ve always cared about his approval, I find it hard to believe that’s changed in just a few months with some girl.”
“Eight months.” He corrected, his jaw clenched tight. “And you know her name. Don’t be rude.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Sophia or something. I just don’t get it.”
“It’s Sophie. Still. And good thing there’s nothing you need to get about my relationship.” His knuckles were nearly white around the steering wheel as he pulled into the small parking lot, then glanced around with a frown. “Where’s the other interns? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
“Oh.” She raised her eyebrows, surprised. “I just sent the invite to you. You didn’t notice?”
He hadn’t, of course, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He parked the car and turned it off, looking over at her with a confused expression. “What?”
“I didn’t send it in the group message, Rafe, I thought we could go out, um, with just us.” She gave him a small, earnest smile. “Like old times.”
He grimaced, closing his eyes for a second and taking a breath. “Are you forgetting that you broke up with me?”
“I mean - Rafe, come on. We worked well together. We could at least be friends.” Her tone took on a pleading edge and she leaned in a little closer, her arm nearly touching his on the center console.
“You made me feel like shit, Brooklyn.” He told her flatly, frowning. The last thing he wanted to do that day was rehash a conversation with his ex that they’d already had at least three times since breaking up. (The first was more akin to a drunken screaming match that ended in tears for both of them, the second was just bitter insults hurled back and forth, and the third was as short as possible, on the campus quad in between classes.)
“I just wanted to help you.” She murmured, then suddenly leaned over and kissed him quickly. He was so taken aback that it took him a second to spring back, eyes wide. “Brooklyn! What the hell!”
She blushed, embarrassed as she started stammering. “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t thinking -”
“Fuck.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and shuddered, looking disgusted. “Get out.”
She sat there for a moment longer, not looking at him. Her voice grew impossibly small and she picked at her cuticles, radiating anxious energy. “I didn’t drive.”
“I don’t care. Get an Uber or something, get the fuck out.” Rafe was practically fuming as he glared out his window, not wanting to acknowledge her.
“I - Rafe, I want -”
“Out.” He insisted.
She nodded quickly and scrambled out of the car, casting a wayward glance back after walking away. Once he was sure she was around the corner, Rafe slammed his fist on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do more - throw up or go scrub his body clean of any trace of her. Brooklyn’s floral perfume lingered in the car and he felt nauseous, unable to think of anything but Sophie and how she’d react once she found out.
After he took a few moments to center himself, absolutely livid, he punched the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot, repeatedly swiping his hand over his lips in an attempt to get Brooklyn’s signature cake batter-flavored lip gloss off. (The summer after the breakup, Wheezie had started wearing a vanilla sugar perfume that smelled all too similar - Rafe had a headache for weeks.) He drove to a nearby park and sat out by the water to get away from the overwhelming perfume scent in his car, and his hand was nearly shaking as he hit the app to FaceTime Sophie, nervous as hell.
She picked up right away, grinning once his face filled her screen. “Hi! It’s good to see you. I can’t talk long, I’m getting ready to go out, but what’s up?”
“Um...” Rafe briefly debated bringing it up, anxiously pulling at a loose thread on his shorts. “Just checking in. How’s your day been?”
“Oh my god, so...” She launched into a ramble about a cool new project she was working on, and how she got to be with some of her new friends, and how she aced her Spanish test. He listened, a little impatient, as guilt ate at him.
“Soph -” He tried interrupting, knowing if he put it off any longer he’d make himself sick.
She didn’t notice. “And it’s kind of tricky -”
“Baby, listen.”
“- But it’ll be really rewarding -”
“Brooklyn kissed me.” He blurted out quickly.
She froze immediately, eyes wide with her lipstick raised halfway to her mouth. “She did what?”
He bit his cheek hard before replying, his heart pounding. “I’m so sorry, Sophie, I didn’t - I should have known, her stupid dinner invite -”
“Rafe, shut the fuck up, why are you apologizing? You didn’t kiss her back.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of trust, but he almost flinched from the hard edge to her voice.
He shook his head frantically. “No! No, of course I didn’t. Fuck. She barely even touched my lips before I pulled away.”
“Fucking hell.” She had to set her phone down as she was practically shaking with anger. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I knew she was going to pull something, that - that -” She seethed, unable to get all her words out.
“That…?” He tried supplying.
“That bitch! Oh my god, what the hell? If I were there, I swear I’d - holy fuck. I’ve never wanted to punch someone until now.” She started pacing the room, flexing her fingers into fists.
Rafe couldn’t hide his tiny smile, raising his eyebrows. “You’re kind of hot when you’re mad.”
“Focus, Cameron.” She snapped. “Oh my god, she’s so fucking petty. First the Instagram messages, then this -”
“Wait, wait, hold on, what Instagram messages?” He interrupted, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” She scowled, crossing her arms. “She followed me a couple weeks ago and went through and liked the posts that you’re in, and keeps responding to my stories. Like that group photo I posted the other day at the bar, some of the guys were in it? She literally responded with ‘wow, glad you’re getting some in Spain.’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Sophie, you should have told me.” He rubbed his temples, upset but completely unsurprised - Brooklyn had done that same to a friend he had taken to a date party once when they were in one of their many short breakups. “I’ll talk to her, tell her to knock it off -”
“And have her try and kiss you again? No, I don’t think you need to give her any reason to be one on one with you.” She huffed, indignant. “How many days again?”
He paused to think. “Thirty? Twenty-nine?”
“Jesus Christ.” She sighed, running her hand over her face. “Any chance you want to come early?”
He looked apologetic, shaking his head. “Can’t, baby, I’m committed to this internship right up until I see you.”
“Damnit.” She flopped back onto her bed and rolled over onto her stomach to face the camera again. “Next time you’re at dinner, let me know and I’ll text you a picture of my tits or something.”
Rafe snorted. “I don’t know if that’s the best approach, but I wouldn’t be opposed to getting more nudes from you.”
“No, you’re right, she’d probably just tell you I’m slutty or something.” She rolled her eyes, only for him to frown. “You’re not slutty, baby -”
“I know, I know, whatever. What happened, seriously? Why’s she so hung up on you? I mean, I know why, look at you -” she gestured at the phone, making him laugh, “- but for real. Will you tell me?”
He nodded, taking a moment before he spoke. “She, um, cheated on me, but I didn’t find out ‘til after she broke it off. Not until the charity gala, actually. She’d say things like, ‘you’re so needy,’ then would get mad at me if I went to hang out with the boys.” Rafe paused, thinking. “She invited herself to the Bahamas, both times. My dad loved her, that should have told me enough.”
“Oh.” She murmured, frowning. “That’s fucked, Rafe, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, took me a while to snap out of it.” He half-joked, then his tone turned more sincere. “You should know, I was going to take you to the Bahamas house this spring, actually. But I didn’t want you to think I was showing off or something.”
“Rafe Cameron, showing off?” She teased, lifting her hand with the Cartier ring and raising her eyebrows. “Never.”
He immediately blushed, protesting. “That’s different!”
She grinned. “Is it?”
“It is. Totally different. I almost bought you the one with diamonds, that’d be showing off.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, I almost did.” He grinned, noticing that she wore the ring on her ring finger instead of her middle finger like he’d originally put it on her. “Sarah talked me out of it, so go complain to her if you wanted that one. She said you’d probably have my head.”
“Smart girl.” Sophie laughed.
“Do you always wear it on that finger?” He asked with raised eyebrows.
Her cheeks tinged pink and she shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but her tone took a defensive edge. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a finger. Why? Does it make you feel weird?”
“No. Does it make you feel weird?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Good.” She shot back, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks for a moment. “I have to go, I’m late for meeting my friends now.”
“Wait, Soph.” He smirked and she narrowed her eyes again, wary of what he was about to say. “What.”
“Love you.”
“That’s it?”
He laughed, grinning. “I’m still not opposed to you sending me pictures of your tits when I’m at dinner.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how difficult it is to take a good nude? I have to be alone, I have to contort myself in a weird position or use the self timer, then I have to edit the lighting because I have to take them at night -”
“Alright, alright, I get it. I’m just kidding.”
“You absolutely were not. I love you. Go appreciate the pictures I’ve already given you.”
“You gave me three for the entire summer.” He complained, and she rolled her eyes. “That’s a lie, I left you with three and I’ve sent you a couple since then. Goodbye, Cameron, love you, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”
He grinned. “Wait, Sophie, wait.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not mad? At me?”
Sophie paused, furrowing her brow. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you? You’re already forgiven for not telling me, is there something else?”
“No, no.” He shook his head quickly, voice going quiet. “I just, um. She would have had my head for what happened. I know you’re not her, but I’m just used to that, I guess.”
She softened, wishing she could hold him. “I trust you, Rafe. I mean it. I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed off at her, but you didn’t do anything.”
“And you’d tell me if you were?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little anxious.
Sophie laughed softly, nodding. “You’d know if I was mad at you, baby, it’s hard to hide.”
“Right. Okay.” He didn’t seem fully convinced, but nodded anyways. “I’ll let you go, then.”
“Not mad at you. Good night, my favorite boy.”
He gave her a small, shy smile. “You promise?”
“I promise. You’re always my favorite.” She returned a bigger smile. “I’ll text you when I’m home if you need to talk more.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine.” He waved her off, not wanting to seem too dependent.
She nodded, blowing him a kiss with a grin. “Night, baby. Sweet dreams.”
taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney
#rafe x sophie#mine#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfic#outer banks#outer banks fanfic#college outer banks#college obx#obx fanfic#obx#college rafe#frat rafe
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You're Mine, Chapter 6
You’re the CEO of a groundbreaking drug company in Sweden with a work/life balance that’s more work than anything else. That is before you meet Loki, who turns your world on its head in the best of ways.
Set during the first Avengers movie. This work contains explicit content and BDSM.
Pairing: Dom!Loki x Sub!Reader
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, BDSM, Smut, Dirty talk
Word Count: 3,372
You awoke to beams of sunlight streaming through the window. Turning to your side you found Loki’s long form stretched out beside you, lounging lazily with a book. He set it down to smile at you. “Good morning, älskling.”
You shivered at the timbre of his voice, smiling back at him. “‘Morning,” you stared down at the book resting on his thigh, an eyebrow raised. “The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy?” You read the title while trying, but failing to hold back a laugh.
“What?” He frowned, looking down at you with the slightest trace of a smile playing at his lips. “He’s got a lot of it right.”
Your eyes widened and you gripped his arm. “Is it the part about the dolphins?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he smiled down at you. “Definitely the dolphins.”
“How long have you been up? Wait do you even need sleep?” You furrowed your brow, settling your body closer to his. You brought your fingertips up to draw small circles over his bare chest.
“It’s not a necessity. I can go long periods without sleeping. Lately I’ve found myself reading in the evenings more than anything else,” he brought his hand over to lightly trace your arm with his fingers.
You hummed lightly at the sensation, your eyes closing briefly.
“We should go get some breakfast, älskling.” You opened your eyes to find his tender gaze studying you. “I have a few things in mind for today. You’ll need your strength,” his voice turned sinful as he continued to stroke your skin. It all sent a tremble through you, your thighs clenching.
His eyes traced over your features, a light smile at his lips. The effect he had on you was growing and the little smirk he looked down at you with told you he enjoyed every second of it.
“Breakfast,” he reminded you, sighing as he got up from the bed.
“Right,” you said as you sat up, “breakfast.”
He brought you to a small cafe nearby, with a picturesque view of the water. The conversation between the two of you flowed easily. Considering he was a thousand-year old god he had a lot to say about the current state of global politics.
“I should probably stop by my house this morning- would you like to come?” You asked, toying with the handle of your coffee mug between your fingers.
“Of course,” he nodded, his eyebrow raised. “What I have planned doesn’t require a specific location, though we may appreciate some privacy.” The velvet in his voice returned and you swallowed.
Settling up at the cafe he walked you to the underground garage of his building, back to the lot with the gleaming vehicles.
“Which one, älskling?” He asked, motioning to the cars in front of him, parked beside the Mercedes he brought to dinner last night.
“Oh,” you took a step back to look at the four cars he motioned to. “Are these all yours?” You asked, turning to him.
He nodded, hands behind his back as he watched you admire each vehicle.
“I think we’ve got to go with the jag,” you said, pointing to the deep green Jaguar in front of you.
“Excellent choice,” he mused then helped you slide in to the passenger side.
You jumped when he materialised in the driver’s seat, “Jesus Christ!”
He chuckled, “wrong god, älskling.” Turning to look at you, “I’m sorry, I’ve been holding back my powers around you though I’d like to stop that now.”
Your heart raced as you remembered what you’d thought you saw last night on the drive home. “What else can you do with them- with your powers?”
He brought his hand up under your chin, looking you evenly in the eyes. “Be a good girl and you’ll find out.”
You bit your lip and nodded, “yes, Sir.”
He gave you a chaste kiss before turning the car on and pulling out of the lot. The drive passed quickly, it was rare to see a large crowd on the roads on a Sunday.
Loki pulled the car up to your empty house and parked it out front. He helped you up the icy steps to the front door, unlocking it the two of you stepped inside.
“Your home is lovely,” he said as you removed your coats and slipped them in the closet.
“Thank you,” you smiled, “I’m really happy with it. My work can really take its toll on me, but I’ve always found peace here.” You led him through the warm wooden corridors, giving him a quick tour of everything as you went. He complimented your design decisions as well as some of the art you’d purchased over the years.
It was rare for you to have someone over who didn’t work for you in some capacity but you enjoyed showing him around, letting him in on the parts of your life rarely seen by others.
You were happy though you had to acknowledge the small part of you that worried about the day he’d need to return to his former life, leaving you behind. You chastised yourself for thinking that, it was best to enjoy your time with him while you had it.
You hadn’t realised that you’d stopped in the kitchen as you mulled over your thoughts, growing quiet as you contemplated things.
“Älskling,” Loki had turned away from the large window overlooking the frosty water, snapping you out of your thoughts. He came to you, gently holding your face as he looked in your eyes. “Where did you go just then?” He spoke tenderly, his eyes searching yours.
“I-“ you felt your cheeks grow hot. “It’s silly,” you looked down and bit your lip. You took a deep breath and looked back into his eyes, “you’re the first person I’ve really let in since I’ve been here- not just to my home but to my life. I’m so happy to have met you. I’m just trying not to get my expectations out of line with the reality of our situation.”
His brow furrowed. “And what’s that?”
“You’re an alien, a thousand year old god,” you laughed. “I can’t expect you to stay here on Earth with me. You have a family on Asgard, and a life you’ll want to return to. I’m worried the more I let you in the harder it’ll be for me to let you go when the time comes.” You smiled pitifully, turning your head away.
“Oh älskling,” he said, his head tilting as his eyes held a sorry expression. He shook his head after a moment. “I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. I have no reason to, I’m happy here. And my family-“ he stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “My family thinks I’m dead.”
“What?” You frowned, quickly running through what he told you last night mentally. He mentioned a strained relationship, but not that he’d faked his own death.
He let go of you, turning to face the window once more. “I tried to follow the right path to make my father- my family proud. But it all got turned around when I discovered my true nature.” He laughed bitterly. “I quickly learnt that no matter what I did I’d always be the outsider. My father would never accept me as he did my brother. He’d never let me rule,” he frowned. “That was difficult for me to face,” he took a deep breath. “So, I let myself fall off the Bifrost and into open space. I ended up passing through Yggdrasil- what you’d call a wormhole.”
There was silence as you digested his words, your heart in your throat. You stepped to him, gently taking a hold of his arm. “Oh Loki,” you looked up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
He chuckled, his eyes wet. “I couldn’t stand it-“ he turned his head, his expression pained. “I figured it’d be easier if I were out of the picture.”
You brought your hand up to brush a stray strand of hair behind his ear, your heart heavy.
Taking another deep breath he continued. “I was picked up by a ravager ship,” seeing your expression he explained further, “think space pirates. I made a deal with them to deliver me here- to Midgard. I’ve been here ever since.”
“And how long has that been?” You asked gently.
“A year or so,” he shook his head. “I haven’t told anyone that before.”
“Thank you for telling me,” you brought your hands up around his neck and gave him a hug. “That’s a lot to go through, let alone survive.”
“I wouldn’t do it again given the chance,” he pulled away from you to look in your eyes. “But being away from my family, from Asgard has been good for me. I’d like to stay here,” he gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb. “I’d like to explore this more- what’s between us.”
You smiled, feeling most of your prior apprehension melt away and pulled him in for a gentle kiss. “Me too,” you breathed against his lips. His arms snaked around your waist to bring you closer as he pulled you in for a deeper kiss.
Everything about him made you tremble- his scent, his firm body against yours, the way his hands strongly gripped your waist, the way he kissed you- be it gentle, hard or in-between. You found yourself gasping into his mouth, your core growing wet as he wrapped himself around you, overwhelming you in every sense of the word.
He moved from your lips momentarily, his breath heavy with your own. “Bedroom?”
You nodded and pulled away with a shaky breath in, turning to lead him down the hall. The lights came on, revealing the simplistic design of your bedroom. You turned to him, surprised to find him close behind you. He came closer, his lips almost against yours as he stared into your eyes. He brought his hand to your hip to guide you backwards towards your bed, his gaze turning predatory.
Your calves hit the end of your bed and he brought his hands up to gently hold either side of your face. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he captured your lips with his once more.
After a moment he pulled away and gave you a smile, your clothes and his disappearing with a flash of green. “Much better,” he kissed your shoulder, gently sucking on the skin.
He gripped your waist and turned the two of you before pulling you down on top of him so you were straddling him on the bed. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex. You looked down to see his length between the two of you, already painfully hard. Bringing your eyes back up to him you dipped to lightly graze his lips with your own as you repositioned yourself to be flush against him.
You felt his hard length under your wet heat, and as you nipped at his lower lip you began to move against him. He felt so fucking good- sliding across your folds with ease with help from your excitement.
You moaned, everything about him driving you so close to the edge already. He was firmly gripping your ass, guiding you along his cock.
“That’s it, älskling. Take what you need from me,” you whimpered at the sound of his voice, the timbre of it sending heat throughout you.
He looked up at you with dark eyes as he bent to kiss your nipple, pulling the sensitive flesh into his mouth. You moaned, throwing your head back to further push yourself against him. He dragged his teeth lightly across the sensitive bud and you looked down at him, breathing heavily while you continued to move against him.
“Please,” you breathed, looking back down as your fingers slipped through his hair. You were so close, so close to letting go but you couldn’t let yourself. You needed him to say that you could cum.
“Please what, little one?” His expression was passive as he looked up at you, an eyebrow raised.
“Please- please Sir may I cum?” You asked, your heart racing. You’d tried to slow your movements against him but he’d kept the pace using his grip on you. Every muscle in your body was clenched as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.
“My good girl,” he smiled. “I’m so proud of you, holding on for me. You may cum älskling. Cum now.” He commanded, his teeth gritting together. You came with a cry, your hips frozen in place against his as you twitched on top of him. You relished in the feel of his hot length against you, now coated in your release. He kept his eyes on you as he kissed the skin between your breasts, holding you tight as you came back to yourself.
“As much as I love this view,” he said, gripping your waist before he rolled the two of you over. “That’s better,” he grinned down at you.
Holding himself over you he gently brushed the errant strands of hair from your face. His eyes slipped from yours to trace over your skin and your heart raced, your breath heavy. “My lovely little thing,” he brought his gaze back to yours before bringing his lips to your ear, his breath warm against the sensitive skin. He gently licked the shell of your ear then captured your lobe between his teeth, the sensation causing you to cry out sharply. He chuckled darkly against the skin of your neck, “oh älskling. I love finding new ways to make you scream.” He sucked the skin behind your ear, his words leaving you dizzy with lust.
He brought himself back up to face you, looking as if he could devour you on the spot. You bit your lip and raised your hips against him, whining as you felt his length gently brush through your folds. He grabbed your face, his long fingers firmly gripping your jaw as his hips came down on yours to hold you in place.
“You needy little thing. What happened to my good girl, hm?” He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he waited for an answer.
“I- I’m sorry Sir.” You stuttered, trying not to move as you felt his length press against you. “It’s just-“ you cut yourself off when you saw the warning look in his eyes.
“No excuses älskling. You take what I give you. I’ll fuck this sweet little cunt,” he moved his hand from your jaw to cup your heat, “when I decide you deserve my cock.”
You felt yourself tremble and grow even more wet with his words, and from his smug expression you could tell he felt it too.
“Is that clear, älskling?” He enunciated each word but all you could focus on was the feel of his hand over your heat, so close to where you needed it.
You nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Say it.” He commanded, his jaw strong as he looked down at you.
“I take what you give me, Sir.” You obeyed, your voice small though your heart raced.
“Good girl.” He nodded, then moved his hand from your heat, forcing you to suppress a whimper at the loss of contact. “Now,” he wore a sinful expression, “do you want me to fuck you?”
You eagerly nodded, “yes please, Sir.”
“Prove it. Beg me. Beg me to fuck you,” his voice was deep as he dared you with his eyes.
“Please fuck me, Sir. Please- I need you to fuck me. I’m yours Sir, please.” You rushed out, desperate for him to fill you, to touch you, to keep speaking to you in that raspy tone.
“Good girl,” he brought his hand to his cock and guided it through your folds, gathering wetness and forcing a whimper from your lips. Then he slowly entered you, bit by bit, taking his time as you willed yourself to remain still.
Once he was fully seated inside you he began to thrust, slowly at first, but building to a steady rhythm. Each thrust met a deep, sensitive spot within you that hurt in the most delicious way. Your muscles clenched each time he hit it, and you’d lost your breath to short uneven spurts of air as your pleasure built.
“Oh- oh fuck, please-“ you said, unsure of what you wanted from him other than for his unrelenting thrusts.
He brought his fingers to your mouth and you eagerly sucked them, running your tongue along the pads of his finger tips. His lips curved upwards and he withdrew them, sliding them over your nipple before pinching it between his dampened digits. Your back arched at the sharp pain, your body alight with pleasure- you were close to your finish.
“Sir- I’m close, I’m close,” you said between quick puffs of air.
“I know, älskling. I can feel it. Your tight little cunt is gripping me firmer and firmer,” he let out a breath. “Gods.”
“Please, Sir- please may I cum?” You begged, your fingertips gripping the muscles of his arms as you held on for dear life.
He nodded, “yes. My good girl, you may cum. Cum for me- I want to feel you come undone on my cock.” He rasped out and you came, the pleasure overtaking your every sense. You writhed under him as you rode out your high, and after a few thrusts you felt him twitch inside of you. He moaned as he came, his eyes still locked with yours as you both came back to yourselves.
He smoothed your hair back and gently kissed you before he pulled out, his cum trickling down your thigh. Stepping back, his eyes traced over your spent body, a smile at his lips. “Beautiful.” He said before materialising a damp cloth, handing it to you so you could clean yourself.
You smiled back at him before sitting up on the bed. “Will you come with me? I want to show you my favourite part of this house,” you said, standing up and walking over to your closet to grab a robe. He materialised himself a dark silk robe to match your own before you led him back out in the hall. You pressed on the wood panelling of the hallway, opening the concealed doorway, leading to a series of steps alit with soft light.
You looked back at him- he hesitated for a moment, curious.
You threw him a wink before turning to go down the steps, leading to the bath you’d had custom built. The room was carved out into the rock that your home was built on, smooth but cool under your feet. There was a massive tub in the middle of the room, surrounded by windows that overlooked the idyllic lake. To the side against the stone there was a steam shower as well as a sauna. This was your happy place- few had seen it, only a few close friends who came to visit every now and then.
He stepped into the room, running his fingers along the large tub of hand-carved wood before he turned around, a smile on his face as he took in the room. He chuckled, “impressive.”
“I know,” you grinned as you tapped the controls for the water to fill in the bath. You stepped over to the concealed bar to fetch a bottle of red and some cold water. Setting the bottles on the side table to the tub you retrieved some glasses and poured the wine, offering him a glass as he stepped over to you. He pulled you against him and the two of you looked over the setting sun of the lake.
The tub controls beeped shortly thereafter and you both slipped your robes off before settling into the water, your back settled into his side. He distractedly played with a strand of your hair, twisting it between his fingers. Running over the whirlwind events of your weekend you had a hard time believing this all happened in such a short time.
You sighed contentedly as you rested back against him, your eyes slipping closed.
End Note: This chapter went a little softer than I'd anticipated- next week's will explore a bit more bd/sm themes, I promise! If you'd like more Loki, check out my latest fic: Summer Wine. I'll be posting Chapter 7 of You're Mine next Sunday as well as a new Loki one-shot! Thank you as always for reading.
Taglist (open!):
@fuck-is-going-on
#dom!loki x sub!reader#dom!loki x you#dom!loki#dom!loki x you smut#loki x you smut#loki x reader smut#loki x reader#bd/sm fic#tom Hiddleston loki
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Temptation (Taehyung)
Ceo Au!
Suggestive smut (he’s crouched under ur desk and :)) (smut will be in future chapters)
Angst (later)
3181 Words
Chapter 1.
“Good morning.” Taehyung simply greeted before disappearing into his office.
It was enough to get all the women in the lobby immediately shooting each other knowing glances because not only was Taehyung the company’s CEO, but he was a very handsome one at that too. His polite demeanour and respectful nature only contributed to his desirability. Due to everyone’s unanimous acknowledgement of Taehyung’s appeal, there seemed to always be some sort of competition for his attention. Whether it was to drop something off for him in his office or offer him leftover donuts, his deep voice thanking you followed by his infectious smile was all worth it. Taehyung being new to the company only made the competition over him more fierce. He had taken over the position from a now old and retired gentleman and because he had no idea what the personality of each individual in the office was truly like, it was all fair game.
She definitely would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t have some sort of crush on Taehyung but it was all physical and surface level. He was her boss after all and she only saw him for a few minutes each day. They’ve barely exchanged more than a handful of words to each other in the month of his takeover.
“Jesus...did you see his arms? They’re suffocating in that button up.” Jisoo, her colleague commented.
“You’re drooling,” she teased, “besides, you should be worrying about your meeting today and not about whether or not blood is circulating through his arms.”
Jisoo scoffed and pushed herself off of the reception desk.
“Don’t remind me,” Jisoo groaned, “it doesn’t help that Taehyung’s going to be sitting in for that meeting too. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get through anything without puking.”
The two of them continued to talk and catch each other up on what they did over the weekend before Jisoo eventually had to go back to her desk. She watched as her colleague walked away and felt a twinge of jealousy within herself. For someone like Jisoo to get nervous despite being pretty, charismatic and the office favourite was a slap to her self esteem. Jisoo also held a high position within the HR department while she was just a measly receptionist. She definitely wasn’t going to stay in this position forever but the job paid well and would suffice for now.
As the clock inched closer to everyone’s starting time, the lobby began clearing up as people went to their respected department. After a few minutes, she was left alone to man the front all by herself. She stared at the closed office doors surrounding her and felt another pang of envy in her heart knowing that people behind those doors were doing far more important work than her. Her days consisted of sorting through mail, sending emails, transferring calls and light house duties. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t all bad because at least she could surf the internet whenever she wanted without anyone monitoring her. Her eyes traveled towards Taehyung’s door and she wondered how he was adjusting to everything before an email notification needed her attention.
With it being Monday and the meeting Jisoo was talking about earlier being held today, it was quite busy. She usually had an hour of free time before her lunch break but the emails had been nonstop. People kept revising their forms and asking her to print out multiple copies of the revised papers to the point where the printer just stopped working altogether for a scary moment. With it being so busy, she decided to stay at her desk for lunch today. She was buried so deep in her computer work that Taehyung’s presence had gone unnoticed. He needed a break from staring at his screen all day and decided to go explore the office. In the month that Taehyung transferred over, he had no time to go around introducing himself or making himself familiar with the space. His decision to finally become accustomed to his environment brought him in front of her desk. The unusually loud crinkling from the untouched candy jar she left out for everyone broke her focus. She looked up to see her boss struggling with how small the jar was.
“Do...do you need help?” she finally asked.
Up close, Taehyung’s visuals had her feeling shy and flustered like a high school girl sitting next to their crush. Taehyung seemed just as surprised to hear her voice as his movements came to a halt and he pulled his hand out of the candy jar sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he apologized while rubbing the back of his neck, “I realized I must’ve looked really stupid.”
She waved his doubts away and took the jar from him. She tried her very best to seem unfazed and collected but the red tint in her cheeks and her inability to stop smiling so wide probably gave her away.
“The um...” Taehyung cleared his throat before continuing, “the watermelon flavour please.”
After a few seconds of sifting through the numerous options, she found the one he wanted. Taehyung opened his hand and she almost laughed at how tiny the candy looked in his gigantic palm. Her amusement didn’t stop at his physicality but shifted towards his entire personality. When she first met Taehyung, she was beyond intimidated. She couldn’t look at him for too long without feeling like he was looking right through her. Taehyung carried himself with an air of confidence and always had an answer for everyone, as expected of a competent CEO. She wasn’t nervous around him because he was scary but because his presence was so large and full while she was so small compared to him. But having him stand before her enjoying a piece of watermelon flavoured candy with an innocent smile on his face was just so...unexpected.
“Is this your lunch break?” Taehyung asked noticing her untouched sandwich sitting beside her keyboard.
She looked where he was and let out a forced laugh at her pathetic set up.
“Yeah I didn’t have time to properly take a break today.” she explained.
The reason she was eating at her desk suddenly occurred to her and her eyes traveled over to her inbox which was now at double digits. With only an hour before the big meeting today, she was already behind despite only talking to Taehyung for five minutes.
“Sorry Taehyung I have to get back to work,” she sighed running a hand through her hair, “is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked looking at him for a quick second before going back to her monitor.
Taehyung watched as she worked and wondered if this was the kind of work culture he wanted to uphold. He didn’t like that she didn’t take a break and was going unnoticed for her extra work. Perhaps he’d talk to HR and accounting later to avoid situations like this from happening again. Taehyung drummed his fingers against his her desk and sucked his teeth.
“Nope, nothing else you can do for me!” he smiled, “Thank you for your hard work but please make sure to take a proper break next time. I’m going to the coffee room to take a breather myself.”
She looked up to thank him out of courtesy and he surprised her by thanking her once more and using her name. He grabbed a few more pieces of candy before going on his way.
“Hey Taehyung!” she called, leaning over her desk.
He turned his head with a raised brow.
“If you’re still going to the break room, it’s the other way.” she informed him.
Taehyung turned around on his heel and began walking hastily in the correct direction with bashful smile on his face.
“What an interesting guy.” she thought while laughing to herself.
________________________________________________
The hour leading up to the big meeting didn’t get any easier as her inbox continued to flood with people requesting numerous things from her. She was finally able to breathe when the meeting started and people stopped demanding her assistance. Jisoo had come up earlier asking for words of encouragement before Taehyung emerged from his office. She watched in awe at how effortless Jisoo made it look cracking jokes with Taehyung and drawing out deep belly laughs from him. She cringed at how awkward she must’ve been with Taehyung earlier and refused to look at him when he walked by; not that he would’ve noticed anyway as Jisoo had his full attention. She made an early new years resolution to be more like her follow coworker in the coming year.
Despite the craziness earlier, she was already bored browsing through the same pages for the past 40 minutes. The meeting seemed to be going well as no one left the boardroom to ask her to do anything. With her sanity hanging onto Pinterest boards, she welcomed the delivery man with a gigantic smile and lively greeting.
“Big one today.” the delivery man commented while slapping the stacks of boxes on his trolley.
She took a look around her desk to see if there was any available space to put the packages but to no avail.
“You can just leave them there.” she said and began rolling up her sleeves.
“You sure?” the man asked, “these are quite heavy.”
She reassured him by telling him that she deals with deliveries every Monday and that this was no different to prior ones. She bid the delivery man farewell as he disappeared through the elevator doors with the same concerned face that never left during their entire interaction.
"Finally something to do.” she thought and with that, began working on the boxes.
Taehyung struggled to keep his eyes open during the meeting. He opted to rest his chin on his hand and pretend to take notes when in reality, his eyes were closed and he was drawing random shapes in his notepad. From the moment he received emails outlining what the meeting entailed, he knew it meant absolutely nothing to him. He didn’t actually know why he agreed to be a part of it but he was definitely regretting his decision to do so. Taehyung had a long list of tasks to fulfill especially since he was only a month onboard this company and this meeting was wasting his time. Wanting to make a good impression on his employees, Taehyung tried really hard to pay attention but he simply could not trick himself into caring as the minutes ticked by. He racked his brain on ways to escape and took a deep breath before pursuing his liberation. Taehyung looked at his apple watch and feigned surprise at a non-existent message on it.
“Everyone, I apologize for leaving so suddenly but there is an issue I have to attend.” he announced while getting up from his seat.
He uttered a few more apologies before leaving the boardroom and closing the door. It wasn’t until he was out in the hallway by himself that he suddenly felt incredibly foolish over how easy it was to leave. He sat in that godforsaken room for almost an hour thinking of ways to flee and that was all it took. Pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling a sharp breath, Taehyung made his way back to his office.
“Holy shit! What is in here?!” she groaned struggling to lift more boxes from within the delivery boxes.
In the span of an hour, she was still working on one of the four boxes delivered. Perhaps she should’ve listened to the delivery man earlier but her pride got in the way. It didn’t help that the skirt she was wearing today was a lot shorter than her usual choices but all her work clothes were currently in the wash as she simply could not be bothered to do laundry over the weekend. Every time she lifted something up, she had to immediately place the item somewhere so she could pull her skirt down or she’d accidentally flash the office.
She attempted to set one box down on her desk and winced when it slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. She waited a few seconds to see if anyone came out to figure out what the noise was and breathed a sigh of relief when the office remained undisturbed.
“Better than aimlessly scrolling through Instagram.” she thought before bending over to pick up anything that fell out.
“Do you need help?” a familiar voice called out.
She jumped in her shoes and proceeded to drop everything from her arms. She snapped her body up to see who it was and surprising her again for the second time today, Taehyung was standing in front of her desk with a curious look on his face.
“I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” he apologized profusely as he made his way behind her desk, “please let me help you!”
It took her a beat to register her appearance and she quickly pulled down her skirt that was riding up way too close to her crotch. She smoothed her hair before attempting to stop Taehyung from doing anything.
“No, no don’t worry!” she laughed as he held up the items out of her reach.
“If you want it then you have to grow a whole foot taller.” he teased.
“You have a meeting to go back to.” she reminded him to which he scrunched his face in disapproval.
Just as she was slowly convincing Taehyung to go back, his face turned from playfulness to dread when the boardroom door opened.
“Let me ask Taehyung to join the meeting again.” a colleague’s voice could be heard before their footsteps approached the lobby.
She was about to tell Taehyung that he was needed when he ducked under her already cramped desk and put a finger to his lips as his eyes pleaded for her to keep quiet. Before she could process what was happening, Jin, her coworker appeared.
“Hey! Is Taehyung around?” Jin asked as he marvelled at all the boxes spread out in the lobby.
She stood still trying to calm her nerves. On one hand, she was fighting against the biggest laughing fit of her life and on the other, Taehyung her boss, expected her to cover for him as he cowered under her desk.
“He is...” she glanced down at Taehyung who was now shaking his head and making a cutting motion with his hand, “I-I haven’t seen him actually! Is he not in the meeting?”
Jin cocked a brow and leaned over her desk trying to see what she was looking at.
“Is everything okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” he laughed.
She forced a smile and shook her head, “Oh yeah I’m fine! My computer’s been acting up all day and it’s getting a little worrisome with everything going on.”
Taehyung was impressed by how quick she was on her feet and slowly breathed a sigh of relief until he heard Jin offer to come around and take a look at her computer for her. This whole situation was already absolutely ridiculous and humiliating until she sat down on her chair to click a few keys and feign relief that her computer was magically working again. The issue was no longer the fact that Taehyung was hiding from his employees but that he was contorted under her desk that was way too small for his large frame, now with her cunt inches away from his face.
“Well now that you’re here anyways, I was hoping you could help me with some paper work and scheduling.” Jin said.
“S-sure.” she managed to answer despite her throat drying up and the adrenaline slowly making its way through her veins.
She could feel every time Taehyung breathed because his exhales would land right against her inner thigh and when he sighed, she could feel it right against her sex. Her thong provided little to no protection against any sensation caused by him. She tried to clamp her thighs together but her knees would hit Taehyung’s face in the process causing her to open her legs again as a reflex and there was no more room for Taehyung to back up against.
“Are you okay?” Jin asked.
She could only nod as a response; she did not trust her voice to come out stable and natural. The battle she was fighting up there was mutually shared by Taehyung underneath. His brain was going a million miles a minute as he tried to figure out how to talk to her after this. How was he going to make this all alright and normal? He could offer her a raise and an extra week of paid vacation? Maybe he could fire her but he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he did that. Taehyung was beating himself up for putting her in a situation like this and began to mentally prep for a lawsuit. While trying to figure out a solution, Taehyung forgot that he was just a man with a simple brain and another mental battle was underway as he tried very hard to avoid gazing somewhere he really shouldn’t. As she kept squirming, her skirt kept rising and Taehyung couldn’t help but steal a glance at the growing wetness appearing on her undergarment. The growing arousal within Taehyung’s pants made him feel more cramped and with his legs were beginning to fall asleep, he began to pray to any god out there for some sort of divine intervention.
“Fuck fuck fuck...oh my fucking god,” he chanted in his head, “Jin shut the fuck up already.”
A gasp escaping from her lips followed by her suddenly jolting startled Jin and he gave her an odd look. Taehyung had completely lost feeling in both of his feet and he fell over grabbing onto her thighs for support. His hands felt so warm against her skin and their sheer size grabbed a lot more area than anticipated. Taehyung fought back a groan when the bottom of her skirt had flipped over and her entire lower region was in full view.
“Hey Jin, is it okay if we do this over email? I’m suddenly not feeling so well.” she was able to muster out.
It didn’t take a doctor to know something was wrong from her complexion turning completely pale.
“Yeah I think you should go home for the rest of the day. You really don’t look well,” Jin acknowledged with furrowed brows, “I’ll just catch Taehyung up with the meeting myself.”
The minute she heard the boardroom doors close, she pushed her chair back so forcefully that it crashed into the wall behind her. She got up and immediately pulled her skirt down and made a beeline towards the washroom without saying a single word to Taehyung. Taehyung on the other hand stayed fixed under her desk with his eyes bulged and his mouth ajar. There was absolutely no positive outcome for what he had caused.
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Guns, Glamour, Goodfellas - Chapter 6
Chapter 6: An Offer He Can’t Refuse
Dad!Mob!Tom Holland x Mom!Mob!Reader
-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield, Parker Holland x Platonic!Henry Osterfield
-Warnings: Language, small smut, always a lot of dialogue, idk if there is anything else.
-Words: 3.2K
Author note: The driving test thing actually happened to me. I failed twice and then passed 3rd time. Feel free to leave comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter. Always love hearing from you guys.
Chapter 6: An Offer He Can’t Refuse
Words: 3.2K
The Holland household was about to retire for the night. The lights of the rooms had been flipped off and the exit and entrance doors locked. When, SLAM, the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the house. It shook the pictures on the walls and knocked over a vase, spilling the delicate flowers.
Parker couldn’t stay in that house a minute longer, not after what he just learned, what he just overheard. Tom was in his office along with you, contemplating what to do next.
“What the hell was that?” You questioned as you sat on Tom’s lap.
“Sir?” William entered out of breath.
“What is it William?” Tom asked, sounding concerned.
“Parker just left.”
“He what?” You asked.
“He walked out of here,” William explained.
“Why the fuck didn’t you stop him.” Tom yelled, steam basically coming out of his ears.
“I didn’t know what I was supposed to.”
“Tom, come on. We have to go find him” you screamed, rushing out of the room.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Tom said sternly, pointing his finger at William as he fled to get his car keys.
Driving around aimlessly on the streets of London. You were scared for the safety of your son. Parker coming home today with bloody knuckles showed you a glimpse of his future. A life of unapologetic dealings, making him question his morals once in a blue moon. You wanted more for your son. You would be proud of him regardless but, you wanted him to be happy.
Tom, in the past, suffered from nightmares, ever since your kidnapping. He would wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night screaming your name.
“Y/N? Y/N!?! NOOOO,” Tom screamed in his sleep.
“Tom? What’s wrong?”
“Y/N? Y/N! You’re.. you’re—,“ Tom gasped, coming out of his sleep
“Tommy, shh, I’m right here. I’m right here,” you whispered trying to calm him down.
“Y/N, thank god you are okay. I thought I lost you,” Tom exasperated, trying to calm down his harsh breathing.
“I’m right here, it was just a nightmare.”
“Can I just hold you for a little while?”
“Of course, Tommy” you said as Tom started to fall asleep in her arms. You could feel his soft tiny breaths on her neck. And all was right with the world.
That euphoric feeling was associated with being in love. You were happy your son got to experience it for as brief a time. You didn’t know Charlotte all that well, be she made Parker happy. He had to grow up so fast, it wasn’t fair.
“Y/N were not going to find him, we should just go back home.” Tom said to you.
“No, we’re gonna keep looking,” you replied, you couldn’t leave your son out in the cold all night.
“Wait, Tom stop the car. STOP THE CAR!” You thundered.
“It’s Parker,” you said, hopping out of the car.
“Parker? What are you doing?” You questioned as he kept his strides, moving away from you.
“Get in the car, let’s go home,” Tom explained.
“No. I’m not going anywhere with you,” Parker yelled, continuing to walk away.
“Parker stop fucking around and get in the car!” Tom yelled.
“Fuck you, dad. I’m done. When were you going to tell me that you are the reason. SHE IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!” Parker raged, pointing fingers left and right.
“Parker get in the car and we can talk this out,” you pleaded.
“No, mom. I love you and I’m sorry. Don’t worry about me I’m staying at uncle Haz’s tonight.”
“PARKER GET BACK HERE!” Tom screamed.
“Let him go Tom. He’ll be back, I know he will,” you said, holding Tom back.
In this moment, Tom felt like he lost Parker for good. They had a good relationship but, were growing closer because of the mob. Finally something to bond over.
The night had fallen a few hours later and Parker was walking through the deserted streets of southwest London. Coming up upon a house he had known all too familiar, Henry and Harrison’s abode. After a few knocks, he was surprised anyone answered the door at this ungodly hour.
“Parker? What are you doing here?” Henry answered half asleep.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Parker asked directly, not inviting anymore questions.
“Yeah, of course,” Henry agreed.
“Henry who the fuck is it?” Harrison yelled, coming down the stairs.
“Oh, Parker… Do your parents know you are here?” Harrison asked, surprised to see the boy on his doorstep.
“Yeah, I just can’t go back there, not tonight,” Parker explained.
“Alright then, you can sleep on the couch,” Harrison said.
“Thank you sir,” Parker said. He didn’t sleep well. It wasn’t the couch, the couch was rather comfy, it was all the thoughts running amuck in his mind.
Why the fuck would his family arrange the death of girlfriend? Why would his dad put on a show of pretending to look for her killer? Who the fuck were his parents? Mrs Owens, Charlotte’s mom, was right he and his family are in the business of ending lives and Parker had already gone too deep.
He was woken up by Henry coming down for morning coffee. “Hey. How’d you sleep?” Henry asked lowly.
“Shitty,” Parker replied.
“Henry I swear to god are you shagging my sister?” Parker screamed, addressing the invisible elephant in the room.
“What she told you?”
“Maybe. How the fuck could you do that. She’s my sister!”
“Mate you got it all wrong. We aren’t shagging, just dating. Ok?” Henry explained.
“Alright, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me though. Also don’t break her heart or I will hurt you,” Parker said only to be returned with chuckles from Henry.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, she’s amazing. I think falling in love with her. By the way, that was a shitty threat. You’re a mobster and that’s the best you could come up with,” Henry ridiculed.
“Fuck you. Can I have some coffee?” Parker proposed.
“Sure, but you gotta tell me what happened last night. Never in a million years have you ran away from home,” Henry asked, genuinely concerned.
“I overheard my dad on the phone, he said “it was Dom who arranged the hit.” I have never met a Dom, never seen him around the house. I don’t think he is the one who pulled the trigger but, if he’s the one who gave up my location he might as well have,” Parker exclaimed.
“Jesus, Parker. This is some fucked up shit. It sounds like your dad didn’t have anything to do with it anyway.” Henry mumbled, not to deliberately defend Tom
“I know he did. I’m done talking about this.” Parker asserted and Henry just nodded in response.
“Oh shit! Is today the 23rd?” Parker asked, afraid it was.
“Yeah, why?” Henry replied, confused by the look of terror on Parker’s face.
“I have my drivers test today and I can’t believe I have to see my dad. Ugh!” Parker exclaimed.
Parker was doing his best to avoid the estate. He didn’t have a change of clothes or a toothbrush, he’d have to go back at some point. The fact that his driving license exam was today majorly screwed up his plans of ignoring Tom.
He was ready to get his license and had been practicing quite a lot. He stopped after his accident cause it hurt to drive but, getting a license was the first step in becoming an adult and earning more freedom, something he desperately needed.
What he needed the most was to get out. He wasn’t bred for this type of life. Killing, torturing and breaking the law took a loose morality that he didn’t know if he had. Parker was hurting and Tom was responsible. Parker felt like he needed to make Tom pay but, how could he hurt his own father. He couldn’t, he wasn’t some villain in a movie, he was only kid.
Deep down Parker loved Tom but, it was hard to love the person responsible for the bomb that blew up your life. Parker had to hit Tom where it hurts. Parker wouldn’t dream of hurting you but mobsters were brutal. He had heard the stories in the past of mobster’s hurting you to get to Tom. People would think rival mobs would want to come after him and not you. On the contrary, people associated with the mob were heartless, spineless creatures. They loved watching someone beg for their life and someone fall apart, knowing everything has been stripped away from them. Leaving them vulnerable and utterly alone.
The thing Tom loved most in this world, but he would never admit it, was his mob. Being apart of the mob gave Tom purpose. He didn’t know what he would be without it. He was too devious to be a wall street guy and too adventurous to be a stay at home dad. Tom didn’t run the mob for money, it was simply pleasure.
Devising the plan to take Tom down from the inside out required more planning than ever imagined. Parker’s main focus was to find the person that despised Tom the most. Someone who could make Tom’s blood boil at the utterance of his or her name.
Parker had Harrison drive him to the DMV, fully expecting to see you, but his heart stopped when he saw Tom. Barely acknowledging him, only nodding when Tom muttered something. Rosie was there also, taking her test at the same time. She hadn’t practiced as much as Parker but was confident in her driving ability.
Just like the driving license exam, Parker was the first to go. He waited in driver’s seat, in line, on the side of DMV. Trying to not let his nerves get the best of him. The examiner instructed Parker to start the car, do his hand signals and make his way out of the parking lot to begin the test. The entire process was routine. The whole thing only spanning about 20 mins, then it was Rosie’s turn.
Parker came out of the car, thrusting the paper that signified his passing in the air.
“I passed! I passed! You’re looking at the newest driver of the Hollands,” Parker exclaimed, extremely giddy.
“Rosie Holland?” Called out the driving test examiner. Rosie stood up and took a much needed long breath.
She wasn’t one for cracking under the pressure but, did have trouble being judged. As a child Rosie used to participate in gymnastics, she gave it up as she grew more and more self conscious with age. Later switching to a mix of after-school activities celebrating the arts. She very much enjoyed choir and drama, occasionally dance.
“I know you’ll do great honey,” Tom reassured her.
“Thanks, dad,” Rosie murmured, ready to face her biggest fear, judgment.
The exam was the same as Parkers. The examiner asked for her to show all the buttons in the car, the hand signals and exit the parking lot safely. The test also only took 20 mins, however when they pulled up she wasn’t as ecstatic as Parker was.
“I didn’t pass,” she mumbled, trying to not let tears fall.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry. You can always take the test again. Parker, can you take her to the car while I run to the restroom,” Tom said, bring his daughter into a warm embrace. Parker nodded in return and led the way. Now, it was only Tom making his way into the DMV to give the examiner an offer he can’t refuse.
“I’m sorry sir, I heard that you didn’t pass my daughter but you passed my son. I’d like to hear your reasoning for such a grave error. I don’t understand they are both excellent drivers, I’ve been driving with them for months.” Tom asked, he wasn’t going to let his baby girl cry over something so basic as a driving test.
“She only turned her signal on at 100 feet before the light and not at 150 feet before,” he explained.
“That’s complete and utter bullshit and you know it. I would greatly appreciate it if you were to pass my daughter, Rosie Holland, as in Tom Holland. I’m sure you’re not as stupid as I think you are. Am I right?” Tom threatened.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I wasn’t aware of who she… who you are,” pleaded the examiner.
“It’s alright, just consider it a warning. Now, should I call my daughter back in here so you can give her her license?” Tom asked as the examiner nodded, almost fearful for his life. Tom’s reputation preceded him everywhere he went. What good was his reputation if it couldn’t put a smile on Rosie’s face?
Tom quickly sent a text to Parker saying “Come inside with Rosie.” In a few minutes they were there and the examiner apologized for the confusion and passed her.
“I can’t believe I passed! Dad can you drop me off at Henry’s? I want to tell him the good news,” Rosie cheered.
“Sure darling. Parker, are you staying there tonight?” Asked Tom.
“No, I need new clothes,” Parker mumbled.
“Good. Your mother misses you,” Tom responded. Tom didn’t know how to address everything. Everything had gotten so screwed up. How was he supposed to explain to his son that his grandfather is the reason Charlotte was dead?
Pulling up to Henry’s house, Rosie practically jumped out of the car. She couldn’t contain her excitement to see the person who made life worthwhile. Just looking at his greenish hazel eyes gave her butterflies.
“Henry, I passed! Wanna go for a drive?” Rosie asked, twirling his keys on her fingers.
“Sure, let’s get some dinner.”
They went to a nice restaurant in downtown London. Henry had the whole night planned out. Take Rosie to a lovely dinner, go on the London Eye, confess his true feelings and drive back to spend the night with his girl.
Love was new to both of them. Just learning the fact that when you are in love, you become half of a whole. The dinner was lovely, they went to a little Italian restaurant called Casa Nostra and fell in love with the ambiance. Rosie order a shrimp scampi and Henry ordered a pizza. She made fun of him for taking her to such a classy place and only ordering pizza. Not even a luxury pizza with truffles or sausage, just classic pepperoni.
After dinner, they made their way to the London Eye. Rosie and Henry had both been there before, but they enjoyed watching the city from that height. As they reached the top, Henry pulled Rosie close. How did he get this lucky to have her in his arms. He wouldn’t know what he’d do without her.
“Rosie, I have something for you. Hold out your hands,” Henry said, pulling out silver a necklace with a H and a R on it.
“Oh my god, Henry. It’s beautiful,” Rosie exclaimed admiring the dainty jewelry.
“You’re beautiful,” he responded, causing Rosie to blush.
After a few moments of silence along with staring deeply into each other’s eyes, Henry chimed in, “Roo, I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“Henry, I know I’m falling in love you.” Smiles both envelop their faces as they pressed into a kiss.
They made their way back to Henry’s house and found comfort on the couch. Rosie and Henry put on a movie but barely paid attention to it as they were both too consumed in each other.
As the movie played in the background, clothes were discarded one after the other. First Rosie’s shirt and Henry’s was soon to follow.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Henry whispered nuzzling himself between her breasts.
“Henry,” Rosie hummed as his hand traveled to the waistband of her jeans. He started to fiddle with the button and zipper, ready to take this love fest further.
Rosie was not ready for that. God she loved him but Rosie wanted it to be more special. Especially since the last time she almost inadvertently lost her virginity was at that party.
“Henry... stop,” Rosie said, trying to hide her timid tone. He immediately pulled away, halting all movements.
“Roo, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry but I want to wait. Is that ok?”
“Rosie, of course. I never want you to feel pressured. We’ll wait as long as you want,” Henry assured.
“Thank you. Now that that’s out of the way. Can we go back to kissing?” Rosie questioned, missing the taste of his lips.
“Of course, baby.” He chuckled, smiling into the kiss.
Henry placed his hands on her hips and brought her into a loving kiss. She immediately kissed back, opening her mouth wider to allow entrance for his tongue, deepening the kiss. Nothing could get more perfect than this moment.
Meanwhile, Parker was having an awkward dinner with you and Tom. Tom had refused to talk to his son and you were giving Tom the cold shoulder because of it.
“Thanks for dinner. I’m going out,” said Parker as he exited the dining room.
“Where are you going?” Tom asked, tired of all his games.
“Like I said out,” Parker exclaimed, leaving without a single goodbye.
Parker drove to hotel and casino downtown called Aurelia. He had contacted a fairly new friend for information on Tom’s rival. Jazz, aka Jasmine Ramsey a contract killer, was starting to become quite the informant to Parker. She enjoyed bouncing around even though her allegiance with always be with Tom secondly, after herself. She didn’t become a master assassin by not playing on both teams. The valets parked his car as he walked toward the hotel.
Coming up to concierge to ask “I’m here to see some guy called Wilson.”
“Is he expecting you?” asked the concierge.
“Doubt it, tell him a Holland needs to talk to him. I’ll wait,” Parker said, really coming into this new role.
“Right this way Mr. Holland,” Parker was escorted to the 11th floor, almost like a penthouse.
“Tommy boy, what’s this concerning? You have some balls showing up. I could have you dead on the spot.” Spoke the mysterious mobster, from his dim office. Parker stood in the doorway, this was his last chance, he could leave right now and not screw over his father. But it was too late.
“It’s not Tom. I hear you hate my old man. Something we have in common. I’m here to offer my services,” Parker said, confidence fading.
Swallowing the lump in his throat and hiding the sweat marks on his face, those were all huge tells of lying. He could be dead in 5 seconds flat if they thought his motives weren’t pure.
“What the fuck do you think you have to offer me?” replied the cunning mobster.
“I’m Tom Holland’s son, anything. Take your pick Wilson.” Parker concluded.
That was it. There is no going back now. Parker was what they would call a double agent, only if he was a spy. Nope, he is a mobster and he is now a rat. People have been killed in front of their family for far less.
Betrayal is the ultimate crime, having someone you trust just turn their back on them. Whatever Parker just did, changed everything. He could never go back. He started a war and this was just the beginning.
Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist
Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort
#tom holland#tom holland imagines#tom holland series#tom holland fanfic#tom holland mob au#tom holland au#tom holland x reader#tom#mob!tom x reader#mob!tom#mob tom#dad!mob!tom holland#mob!tom x mob!reader#mob!tom holland x reader#mob!tom holland
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If You Love Her
Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader, EraserMic, Ejiriou Kirishima, Hitoshi Shinsou, Kazuya Yamazaki (OMC), Hanta Sero (Mentioned), Mina Ashido (Mentioned), Denki Kaminari (Mentioned), Izuku Midoriya (Mentioned), Shouto Todoroki (Mentioned)
Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Grief, Little Smidge of Fluff
Word Count: 2278
Beta: @sorenmarie87
A/N: Lyrics used from the song If You Love Her by Forest Blakk
Masterlist
Katsuki hums as he prepares breakfast for the two of you. You lean against the doorframe admiring him in his hero costume. “Just gonna stand there, Firework? Or are you going to come kiss me good morning?” He smirks over his shoulder at you. You push off the door frame and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sits his knife down and turns in your arms, cupping your face and kissing you. “You know you could’ve slept in right? UA is on holiday.” You shrug.
“I couldn’t sleep. I’m a little anxious this morning for some reason. Plus, I wanted to see you before you left for patrol.” Katsuki squeezes you hard before letting you go and turning back to his task. You grab your favorite mug and start to pour yourself a cup of coffee when his voice stops you.
“Don’t drink coffee if you’re anxious. You know it makes your heart race. There’s tea in the cabinet. Do you want me to stay home with you today?”
“Thank you. No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine, Kat, I promise.” You reach up on your tiptoes for the tea on the top shelf. You had a sneaking suspicion that Katsuki liked to place things you used regularly up out of your reach so he could grab it for you. He chuckles and grabs the tin, placing it in your hands. “Thanks.”
“Welcome, babe. Breakfast is ready, but I’ve gotta take mine to go. I’m running late for a meeting with Deku, Shouto, and Kirishima before our patrols.”
“Be safe, Kat. Come home to me.” He leans down to kiss you and presses your foreheads together.
“I will. I promise.”
“Love you more.”
“Love you most, Firework. I’ll be home for dinner.”
The envelope in his pocket feels like lead as he sits through the shitty meeting Deku is leading. The truth is he’d woken up with anxiety too. Terrified about the future and what would happen to you if he was gone and wasn’t there to protect and love you anymore. It’s not like hero work was exactly safe. There was always that risk. They had already lost friends and comforted significant others at burials. Kirishima nudges his leg. “Hey, man. You good?” Katsuki looks around and realizes the meeting room has emptied, leaving him and his best friend alone.
“Just thinking about Denki and Shinsou. And Sero and Mina.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. It’s been what about a year since Sero was killed?”
“Mhm and only a few months since Denki. Fuck, man. Feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time.” Kirishima’s eyes fill with sadness thinking about their fallen friends.
“Yeah. Listen, Kiri. I need you to do something for me.” He pulls the envelope from his pocket and holds it out to him. “If I- if I ever die, I need you to take care of her for me. Make sure she lives her life, man. Don’t let her shut down and her light die. She’s too bright for that, man. You protect her. You have to help her keep going. Make sure she falls in love again. And when she does, you give him this.” Katsuki’s voice cracks, thick with emotion.
“Katsuki, I-”
“Promise me, Ejiriou.” Katsuki shoves it at him. Eyes desperate and pleading.
“Of course, Katsuki. I promise.” He pulls Katsuki into a hug, a move that would’ve earned him an explosion to the face years ago. They stay like that until Katsuki’s calm and in control again.
“Let’s get out of here. I need to blow something up.” They both let out watery laughs and stand.
“You know everything’s gonna be fine, right?” Kirishima places his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I just can’t stop thinking about how wrecked Mina and Shinsou were. Hell, they still are. We’ve done our best to be there for them but Shinsou shut down and pushed us away completely. He blocked everyone’s numbers, except Y/N, but she’s his sister. Mina tries, but we all know she can’t even look at us anymore, because she just sees the one who’s missing. I have to make sure someone takes care of her. For my peace of mind.”
“That makes sense.” They slip their comms in their ears and leave the conference room. Kirishima stops by his desk to store the letter while Katsuki texts you. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
Their patrol goes slowly. Katsuki just wants to get home to you. It’s hot as hell and quiet on the villain front. The only thing they’d done was rescue that dumb cat from a tree. “Dude, one more quiet block and I’m calling it a day.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I think we can let the sidekicks handle the last couple hours without us.”
You stand at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables for stir fry. The news drones on in the background as you make dinner. Katsuki had checked in multiple times and said his day was boring and long, so you figured you’d make his favorite food and you guys could have a movie night. Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, but as you reach for it someone bangs on the door. “Good grief.” You lay the knife aside and wipe your hands on a towel. “I’m coming.” The banging continues, growing more frantic. “Jesus, I’m coming. Chill.”
Time slows in that moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Katsuki’s picture on the news screen and turn. The doorknob jiggles as the person gives up on knocking and resorts to their key or picking the lock you don’t know. “Pro Hero Dynamight was killed moments ago in an attack. He and his partner, Red Riot, were on their way back to their agency when they were ambushed by a group of villains.” You stop dead in your tracks. The door opens. “Dynamight was dead by the time sidekicks and backup arrived. Red Riot has been rushed to the hospital. Dynamight was ranked number two behind Pro Hero Deku and leaves behind a wife. Japan thanks you for your sacrifice.” Your knees buckle, but arms wrap around you, keeping you from collapsing completely. Katsuki was dead.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” A familiar deep voice rumbles in your ear. Aizawa holds you close as you sob into his chest.
“Daddy, he’s gone. Katsuki’s gone. I can’t do this without him. I can’t!” You cry and scream on the floor in your father’s arms. Hizashi arrives moments later, hitting his knees and wrapping you both up.
Everything is a blur after that. People are in and out of your house. Arms hold you, but they’re the wrong ones. Someone shoved a cup of tea into your hands that went cold a long time ago. You shiver at the cold emptiness that has seeped into your bones. Hizashi wraps a blanket around your shoulders and kisses your forehead. You don’t acknowledge him nor Aizawa when he tries to coax you into eating some food. “Baby, please just drink some water then.”
You fall asleep on the couch late into the night, because you can’t bear to sleep in your bed without him. Your dads sleep on the couch opposite you. They’re curled protectively around each other, having been reminded once again that time is short and how lucky they’ve been.
Katsuki’s service is beautiful. People from all over the country come to say goodbye. Your dads hold your hands, while Kirishima, Deku, and Todoroki speak about their friend. It takes all your strength to stand at that podium. “Most of Japan knows Katsuki as Pro Hero Dynamight. The explosive, sometimes crass hero who never backed down whether in battle or simply in the way he spoke. I knew him as the love of my life. He never held back in loving me. He put things on top shelves that I couldn’t reach just so he could get them down and then kiss me. He loved to cook and has made breakfast for me every single morning since we began dating our second year. Katsuki was incredibly caring, even if he wouldn’t show anyone. I love you more, Katsuki. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you.” You break down as you address your lost love. Hizashi realizes you won’t be able to move on your own and walks up to you.
“Come on, baby. Come back and sit down. You did so well.” He places his hands on your shoulders.
“I can’t, Papa. I can’t do this.” Tears flow freely down your face as you grip the podium.
“You can. One step at a time.” You let go and lean against him as he leads you back to your seat. The service concludes just after sunset. Fireworks fill the sky as tribute to the explosive hero.
Kirishima sits at a table in the cafe, enjoying the beautiful weather and cherry blossoms. You make your way over to him. “Thanks for coming, Kiri.” He stands and pulls you into a crushing hug.
“Of course I came! How are you? You look great!”
“Thank you. I’m doing good.” You smile and he pulls your chair out for you. “I actually asked you here for a reason. I-uh, I’ve met someone. His name is Kazuya. Kazuya Yamazaki. He works at UA teaching Hero Ethics. He’s incredibly sweet and caring. He’s compassionate and understanding. He’s not Katsuki, but I love him. I miss Katsuki so much, Kiri. I still love him. I’ll never stop loving him.” Tears come to your eyes when you mention your late husband. Kirishima smiles.
“Sweetheart, that’s awesome. Katsuki wanted you to live life after he was gone. He wanted you to find love again and be happy. He made me promise that I’d take care of you and make sure you lived and moved on. He’d be so proud of you.” He hands you a napkin to wipe your tears away and chuckles. “Do I get to meet him?”
“That makes me feel better. And yes, you can. We can do dinner at my house this week and I’ll introduce the two of you. Until then, let’s order some food. I’m starving.”
You order and catch up with each other. When you start to leave he hands you an envelope. “Give this to him.” You look down at it. Written on the front is “To the Extra that loves her after I’m gone” in Katsuki’s handwriting. You hug it to you.
“I will.”
You close your car door and take a deep breath. Kazuya makes his way over to you and the two of you walk silently to Katsuki’s monument. “I wanted you to come here for a reason. Today at lunch Kirishima gave me this.” You show him the letter in your hands. “It only felt appropriate for it to be read here.” He takes the letter from you and you both sit in the grass with your backs against the cold marble. You lean your head over onto his shoulder as he reads.
“To the Extra that loves her after I’m gone. Extra?”
“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s just how Katsuki was. Keep going.”
“If you’re reading this shit then I must be gone, but it also means that she’s found happiness and love again. That’s all I want for her. She deserves the world. But if you’re going to love her there’s some things you should know. If she gives you her heart, don't you break it. Let your arms be a place she feels safe in. She's the best thing that you'll ever have. She always has trouble falling asleep, and she likes to cuddle while under the sheets. She loves Pop songs and dancing and bad trash TV. There's still a few other things. She loves love notes and babies. And likes giving gifts. Has a hard time accepting a good compliment. She loves her whole family and all of her friends. On days when it feels like the whole world might cave in, stand side by side and you'll make it. She's the best thing that you'll ever have. She'll love you if you love her like that. Kiss her with passion as much as you can. Run your hands through her hair whenever she's sad. And when she doesn't notice how pretty she is. Tell her over and over, so she never forgets. Make her breakfast every morning, because she hates mornings and it makes her happy. Don’t let her drink coffee, it just makes her anxious. Buy her flowers and candy and those dumb stuffed animals she loves so much. Make her smile every chance you get because it is the most beautiful thing in the world. Love her. Love her more than anything else in the world. Don’t let her be sad over me. Make sure she shines. Her light is so bright and warm. Take care of her for me. -Katsuki Bakugou”
You wipe tears from your cheeks. “Oh, Katsuki.” Kazuya wraps his arm around you and lets you cry on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“No, sweetheart. There’s no reason to be sorry. He was your first love, your husband. You are allowed to still love him and to still be grieving him. I know there’s room in your heart for both of us.”
“Thank you. Even after ten years, it still hurts and I still miss him.”
“And that’s okay. Why don’t we go to the market and buy some flowers, so we can freshen up his arrangement? And then we can go home and you can tell me more about him.”
“That sounds great.”
Tags: @fictionalabyss, @leave-me-2-rot-among-the-flowers
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it’s just what you do.
roman godfrey x reader
summary: “my problem is that if you bring anymore whores around and it’ll start to feel like a brothel in here. and i am far too young to be a madam.”
word count: 6.0k
a/n: if you’ve read some of my st stories, you know i have a little bit of a love for bratty, bitchy readers lol so here ya go! a bratty bitchy reader in the hg universe! (though the reader is pretty tame for what i usually write for a bitchy!reader) i hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know in some feedback (:
You padded down cold stairs in bare feet, yawning as you did. You could already hear Roman and Peter talking quietly at the breakfast bar over cold cereal and sleep graveled voices as you reached the bottom landing. You stretched your arms above your head with a resounding squeak that announced your entrance.
As you push away unruly strands of hair from your face, you rub your cheek, still sheet streaked and warm to the touch.
“G’morin’ (Y/N).” Peter greeted through a mouth full of milk soaked Sugar Crisp.
“Morning, love.” You replied, placing your hands on his bare shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.
You let your hands linger on his skin a moment longer before you stepped around him and to the pantry.
“Good morning,” Roman called after you as he watched appreciatively as the hem of your short negligee dusted the tops of your thighs.
You acknowledged him with a hum, but gave him no further greeting. No good morning, no kiss, no smile. Just a hum as you rummaged around searching for your box of oatmeal.
Roman hadn’t come to bed until just before dawn the previous night, only furthering the animosity you felt for him. The new, deep and unrelenting displeasure you held for him now that he had let another woman into your home.
“What? Peter gets a fucking endearment and I don’t get anything?” Roman griped. His voice grated on your ear drums and his angry breathing only served to churn your disdain for him.
You kept mute, clenching your teeth as you gathered a bowl and some milk to make your morning oats.
You pictured turning around to spit in his face, and how it would feel to watch his reaction as your saliva splattered his skin. You’d then tell him to go fuck himself, maybe break a glass while you were at it, anything to get his attention. Or maybe you’d go hop on Peter’s lap, place his hands on your bare thighs and stick your tongue down his throat. That was probably better than any tantrum you could throw. Your boyfriend was nothing if not possessive of what he deemed as his. You fell under that laundry list of Roman’s possessions, though you were unsure if you were soon to be erased and replaced with five new letters.
Because it had been a little over a week since Annie had taken residence in the second guest bedroom. A fucking week of seeing her and Roman eye fuck each other and share whispered conversations. A week of her connecting with Roman on a level you couldn’t understand, of being a part of schemes, of helping him and Peter (something you were never allowed to do) and talking about Nadia. You’re fucking daughter. You swore the next time her mouth began to form the syllables to the child’s name, you were going to strangle her to death. Upir or not, you were sure your pure maternal rage would be no match for her.
And, it had been a goddamn week of you sulking and pouting and seething without Roman taking even the slightest notice, or if he did, not caring a bit. That, more than anything else, is what was truly making you irate.
“(Y/N)? What the hell?” Roman cursed again as you slammed dishes around in cabinets.
Before he could say anything else, another pair of footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Good morning!” Came her happy french lit as she bounded toward the three of you.
You didn’t acknowledge her presence, simply continued on with your oatmeal.
“I still haven’t gotten over the water pressure here. It’s so wonderful,” Annie says, and you’re sure Roman is half hard at her stupid compliment.
You still haven’t looked at her, but you’re picturing her with damp hair and ruddy cheeks from the hot water. Her face smooth and freckled with youth. Her damp hair turning her already light sleepwear see through and sticky.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Roman chimes and your neck prickles with anger.
The ice he was treading on with you was growing thinner and thinner by the moment. Melting under your fiery ire for his behavior. When he finally fell through, you hoped he’d drown.
“What are you planning on doing today? Do you have work?” Annie asks.
“I do, but do you need me for something?”
You scoff much louder than you had anticipated and you can feel three pairs of eyes on your back. You square your shoulders and turn toward the group, but don’t look at any of them. The stupid Hardy Boys with their brand new Nancy Drew, resigning you to be the villain, you supposed.
You walk around the breakfast bar with purpose, turning your body obnoxiously to avoid touching Annie as you pass. You weren’t close to her as she leaned against the counter, but you wanted her to know just how much you loathed her. So much so, that the idea of touching you made you recoil.
“Uhm, no. I was just making conversation.” She replied, her voice wavering after your subtle outburst.
You held back a pleased expression as you went to the couch, sitting at the farthest corner from the kitchen and taking the throw blanket from the back and wrapping yourself in it. You took your first bite of oatmeal and clinked the spoon loudly back in the bowl in protest.
“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” You hated how your name sounded so melodic coming off her tongue, “Are you feeling alright?”
You don’t reply, just continued to eat your breakfast, looking straight ahead. The tension was palpable in the room as Annie shifted her feet and waited for your response. You wish she would pick up on your clear animosity toward her and quit trying to engage with you. Her efforts were admirable, you’d admit, but with the way she looked at Roman, and the way she spoke to him, there was absolutely no way she could possibly expect you to indulge her.
You could feel Roman’s glare on you, his green eyes burning holes through the knit throw to sear your skin with displeasure. Peter was still turned toward the island, shoulders tense with discomfort at the scene you were creating. You almost felt sorry for him, it wasn’t his fault Roman was being an oblivious asshole (and that you were retaliating the way you were). He didn’t deserve to be caught in the awkward crossfire. Maybe you would sneak him into a corner and feel him up for a bit? He did deserve some pleasure for living with Roman’s pain (and hey, if it made Roman jealous in the process, that would just be a bonas of your good deed).
Soon, Annie recovered from your echoing silence and moved back to talking with Roman and Peter. You could see her out of the corner of your eye, sleep shorts hanging low on her hips and flimsy white t-shirt you had imagined, dipping down from her relaxed stance, giving both men a perfect view down her top. You didn’t have to be looking at Roman to know he was stealing glances.
You stayed on the couch, trying to eat your breakfast, but the oats were soggy and not as good as when Roman made them with cinnamon and maple sugar. You toyed with the beige mush until Roman announced he was off to The Tower. He gathered his jacket and briefcase before saying goodbye to Peter and Annie.
“I’m leaving,” Roman called over to you.
You kept your vow of silence and pretended to be interested in the curdling food before you.
“Jesus fucking-- fine! Goodbye.” He spat, irritated.
You continued to fold your oatmeal around your bowl until the front door slammed shut and Annie spoke after a moment's pause.
“I think I’ll be off, too. I have some errands to run.” Biding you both a quick adui before she exited the kitchen for the stairs.
You huffed to yourself. She could only stand to be around you and Peter when Roman was in attendance.
“I feel like I’m in a high school cafeteria and Annie just took your seat next to Roman.” Peter joked, having heard your annoyed sound.
“Well, she should know I always have an assigned seat next to him,” You said, setting your bowl on the coffee table and crossing your arms.
“Oh my God, (Y/N)! Do you hear yourself?”
“I do, and I know I sound childish but I’ve lost the will to care.”
You hear Peter sigh, then the sound of him getting up from his stool to come sit next to you.
“What’s next? Are you going to spread a rumor about her to make Roman think she’s icky?”
“Like anything I said could make him stop mooning over her,” You reply with disdain.
“He loves you, you know that. He’ll ask you to prom, buy you the most valentines and all that shit.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.” You pout with a furrow of your brows.
“Have you considered just telling him how you feel about Annie staying here?” Peter asked.
“If he can’t figure out on his own why I’m so angry, it’s not my problem.”
“Do you really think that’s fair?”
“No,” You tighten your arms across your chest, “But it’s not my fault that your gender has no emotional intelligence or inference skills.”
Peter chuckles, “All the more reason to just come out and tell Roman how you’re feeling.”
You roll your eyes and give him a half hearted glare, “Don’t you have a job to be getting too?”
“Yes, but I want to make sure you at least mull over my option first.” He nudges you gently with his knee
You give a small pause before a small smirk breaks out over your lips, “I was actually thinking about making out with you to make him jealous. Would you be willing?”
Peter claps his hands down on his thighs and pushes up from the couch, “And with that, suddenly I’m late.”
“Oh c’mon!” You giggle and get up to follow him, “Not even a little peck? Just put your hand on my ass!”
“I would rather keep all my limbs attached, thank you very much.” Peter says as he trouts up the stairs.
“You’ll like it!” You call up after him with a laugh.
“That was never in question, sweetheart! I just like my head on my shoulder and not on Roman’s mantle.”
“It’s my mantle, too.” You mutter, going up the stairs after him and heading to the master bedroom in hopes of avoiding Annie before she left for the day.
You had taken an angry nap until noon and then went downstairs to your office to get some work done. It was during this time that Jane, Roman’s new housekeeper after Anna, informed you there were some nice cuts of meat that would be going bad soon, and if you’d like it for dinner that evening.
“That sounds wonderful, Jane. Thank you.” You replied, peering at her over your computer screen.
“Would you like to ask Mr. Godfrey if he would like steak for this evening? Or if another night would be better?” Roman was known to work late, so this question wasn’t unreasonable to ask.
“I’d call him and ask, but unfortunately I am about to hop on a conference call and don’t have a spare minute. Would you mind calling to ask?” You asked in your sweetest voice.
“Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Anna gave you a smile before she parted from the room.
You sighed, and went back to your riveting game of solitaire.
That night with burgundy stained lips, you sat at the head of your long dining table waiting for Roman to return for work. The beautiful reclaimed wood table that you had excitedly picked out at an estate sale that you had seen Annie sitting on just two days before. Swinging her legs like a child and eating a peach while letting Roman ogle her as the juice dripped down her flawless skin. You had slammed the front door so hard that the frame shook.
As you guzzled down your third glass of Merlot, Peter kicked your foot. A silent plea to slow down, so this evening didn’t explode with your loose lipped temper. But, you paid him no mind. You mostly just thought about how much you hated Annie for making you hate her. Hate her, and Roman. Because, really, you weren’t one of those women who stewed in jealousy or was in a constant fear of their partner cheating. Maybe that was because Roman had always been clear in his devotions to you. Sure, his eyes would wander when an attractive woman passed, but you knew he never acted on it. You had a trust in him that had never wavered until now.
You didn’t want to be one of those women who hated other women or demonized them for having your boyfriend’s attention. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend that men could point at and make stereotypical remarks about your possessiveness and label you “crazy” because of your actions in this scenario behind the three of you… but you were near the end of your rope and the woman had barely been staying with you two weeks. You were starting to question that unmoving trust you placed in Roman and it made you sick. All you could hope was that you were wrong… or at least that Peter would have told you if something happened between Annie and Roman by now.
Half way through your fourth glass, the front door sounded open and in sauntered Roman, with Annie in tow.
“Nice of you both to join us,” Peter teased, though you saw a split second of panic cross his features. You knew he didn’t want to play into your paranoia and had just done so unwillingly.
“Oh yes, we just happened to run into each other in the driveway,” Annie said, throwing a beaming grin over her shoulder at Roman who offered her a smile.
“How coincidental,” You offered over the rim of your glass.
Everyone in the room darted their gaze to you, clearly surprised that you had decided to end your silent streak.
“Yes, I suppose it was.” Annie replies, her smile still intact, “Now what’s all this then?”
“Jane noticed some food that was going to go bad in the fridge and offered to make a nice meal for us.” You said evenly.
You remembered when us just meant you and Roman.
“How thoughtful,” Annie said, looking to Jane who thanked her quietly.
“Ms. (Y/L/N) was a great help with it as well,” Jane said, opening another bottle of wine as you had almost polished off the one she had originally opened for the evening.
Ms. (Y/L/N). Not Mrs. Godfrey. You were easy to be rid of, exiled at a moments notice.
Jane was been modest. You had sat with her while she cooked and idly chatted, handing her utensils and chopping up garlic, but nothing else. You were sure she was trying to get Roman to take notice of your efforts, which you thought was sweet. You hadn’t come out and explicitly talked about your problems with Roman to Jane, you were sure she had figured it out on her own.
See that Roman? Your housekeeper knows more about what’s wrong than you do!
“Well, thank you, (Y/N). It looks wonderful.” Annie said.
You might have even thanked her through gritted teeth, had Roman not just pulled out a seat for her and gently pushed it back in. Instead, you settled back into your discontented humming and poured what was left of the original bottle of wine into your glass.
Peter could sense your inebriation level bordering on dangerous, so he quickly raised a glass in distraction.
“Let’s make a toast! We don’t get to have such a fancy dinner this often, y’know?” He smiled through his unease, and if you weren’t almost five glasses deep you might have even caught the desperate looks he was throwing you.
The please-for-the-love-of-god-don’t-start-a-fight-with-me-here looks.
“Well, how about to (Y/N) and Jane? For making this feast?” Annie offered, raising her glass to match Peter’s.
“Yes,” Roman said, his voice tight, “To (Y/N). And Jane of course.”
His eyes bore into you, both of you on opposing heads of the table. He raised his wine in the air like he was challenging you to a game you weren’t sure the rules of. You had never felt so uncomfortable in his presence ever before, and suddenly the idea that something was really wrong between the two of you seemed more plausible.
You raise your glass to your honor, but don't cheer’s anyone, just simply place the glass back to your lips.
Everyone then went around dishing out food on their plates and passing bowls to each other. Annie was always sure to pass to Roman first and he was always the first to offer her what he was holding. You felt like you and Peter were intruders on the romantic dinner that you had cooked for them (well, helped cook).
“Oh, I have some of Pryce’s plasma left in the fridge, do you want any?” Roman offered to Annie as she took a dish of mashed potatoes from him.
“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you,” She accepted his offer so meek and polite you almost gagged.
Maybe this was meant to be? She was the perfect little wife for Roman after all. Sweet, attentive, was just subversive enough to seem interesting, an upir. The latter was likely the best contender for why Roman would be kicking you to the curb soon. It made sense, they were the same and she was new. And don’t all men want some new pussy after a while? You were no stranger to Roman’s reputation, and you had been reminded by many a peer of his serial adultery in the past… you had just hoped he’d outgrown it when he fell in love with you.
Roman came back with the plasma and leaned over Annie’s shoulder to fill her glass. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath at his closeness and watched as she glanced up at his face, which was mere inches from her own.
You ground your knife hard into the porcelain of your plate, and the sound broke her from her Godfrey trance. You pretend nothing happened and put a green bean in your mouth.
You tuned out the table’s conversations about their days and recent events, feeling isolated and somber. The wine was no doubt contributing to your sadness, but the residual feelings of neglect and rejection were getting to you. Because if Roman really cared, wouldn’t he have pulled you aside by now and just asked you if you were alright? Why you had been avoiding him, why you wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or good morning? Or did he just truly not care at all? Had you been replaced so easily?
You continued to sulk and play over a fictional break up in your head when a topic caught your attention.
“Any news on Nadia?” Annie asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.
Not the baby. Not your baby. Not the child. But Nadia. This woman who was trying to usurp your place in Roman’s life while you were still very present, had just again spoken your daughter's name. Like she had the fucking right.
Before Roman could answer, you pushed up from your seat, again causing all eyes to attach to you. You walked over to the fridge and obtained an old bottle of steak sauce (that you didn’t even want, you were just angry) and returned back to the table with a scowl.
And it seemed this most recent outburst was Roman’s tipping point.
“What the fuck is up with you?” He bellowed, throwing his hand in the air with similar fervor.
“Nothing.” You replied with a snap.
“Sure as shit fooled me! Because you’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the past week. So, why don’t you share with the class what’s on your mind, hmm?” Roman leaned back in his seat and dramatically gestured for you to speak.
“You wanna know my problem, Roman?” You bit out.
Peter was likely already planning his escape.
“That’s what I said.”
“My problem is that if you bring one more whore into this house, it’s gonna start to feel like a brothel. And I am far too young to be a madam.”
And there it was. Grievances were now aired, and unfortunately in front of your two house guests.
Roman’s jaw tensed and flexed as he stared you down, “Peter. Annie. Would you excuse us?”
Both stood without any more prompting and scurried to the stairwell as you and Roman continued to glare at each other in silence. When you heard the twin sounds of doors shutting, Roman finally spoke.
“So you’ve been a fucking nightmare because Annie is staying here? Are you kidding?” He scoffed.
“Don’t belittle me,” You ran a hand through your hair and looked away from his piercing gaze.
“What? Like you just did to Annie?” He motioned to where she had sat.
“Oh,” You mock, “Roman, her knight in shining armour. I’m sure it’s hard to save her when you’re up on your high horse.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“I’m talking about this fucking obsession you have with this woman! This obsession your culviating right under my nose and in my home.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He spits.
“Yes, I am. And don’t play so god damn naive. If the roles were reversed, you would have thrown a fit by now! Fuck, a fit! Fuck any amount of tantrums I could even begin to think of throwing! You would have murdered someone by now.” You seethed.
Roman looked at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes bugging and his mouth agape, stuttering for words, “So, you’ve really just been jealous? Fucking Christ!”
“Like you wouldn’t be if the tables were turned.”
“Fuck off about if the tables were turned. We’re talking about you, not me.”
“No! We are talking about you, Roman. This is just as much about you as it is me.” You shout, “And it has everything to do with the tables being turned. Because if I invited a man to stay in this house -- our house -- and all he ever did was fawn over me and I batted my eyelashes at him and giggled at everything he said while in nothing but a towel you would give yourself an aneurysm.”
“Stop changing the subject,” Roman snarled.
“Can you tell me with absolute and utter certainty that if I offered some guy a room, then spent all my time with him, had little inside jokes with him and touched him, you wouldn’t be angry?”
Roman doesn’t respond, just resets his jaw.
“So, if this man told me how beautiful I was, flirted with me and would never shut up about how similar we were, you wouldn’t be mad?” Roman just clenched.
“What if you started to suspect that I was fucking him, huh? What if you started to think about him inside me? Kissing me? Making me cum? Making me--”
Roman’s fist connecting with the tabletop cut you off.
“Enough! You win, OK? I would hate it, alright? I’d fucking kill him.”
“Thank you! That’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to see my side of this fucking story. Why I have been so mad.” You deflate against your chair, though you know this fight is far from over.
“And you didn’t just tell me, why?” Roman inquires.
“Because you should have known! I know that sounds ridiculous and I can see you rolling your eyes, but you should have known that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.” You said, tears bubbling up, causing your throat to constrict.
“I did ask you! I asked you this morning.”
“Yeah, in front of fucking Peter. Like I was going to tell you then… and you didn’t even mean it when you asked. If I would have told you, you would’ve just yelled at me and made me seem like I was crazy. I wasn’t going to open up to you when I already thought you thought I was being stupid.”
“You thought that I thought? Jesus… I have no idea what you want from me…” Roman sighs, reaching around the back of his chair to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
“I want you to hear me when I say that having Annie here, a woman who so clearly wants to fuck you, bothers me. A woman who you are clearly attracted to, a woman who is clearly attracted to you. It hurts me that you’re letting her stay here, especially when you didn’t even ask me if she could.” You were barely holding off the overflow of tears from your eyes at this point and you knew the second you started to cry this would all be over. Because you would start to blubber and Roman would get irritated that you couldn’t get a word out.
“Let me get this straight: I’m attracted to Annie, she’s attracted to me? So I’m going to have sex with her? And what? Leave you? Is that right?” Roman puffs around his cigarette, the condescension in his tone unbearable.
And your dam broke, the tears threatening to breach your lash line were flowing freely now. Why Roman wasn’t able to just see that something was hurting you and help change, was beyond you. You decided right then and there that you refused to let him have the satisfaction of watching you cry. You were done, for an unforeseeable amount of time.
“You’re so fucking mean.”
You sucked your teeth loudly before pushing up from your seat and heading for the front door.
“C’mon, what are you doing now?” Roman groaned, turning to watch you leave over his shoulder.
“I’m done. I’m going to Destiny’s.” You said curtly, taking your purse and keys from the hook in the entryway.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes I am. I’m done, Roman.” You slung your purse of your shoulder and clutched your keys tight.
“What for tonight or forever?” He asked like he was calling your bluff.
“If you can’t understand why I am so hurt, then I don’t know. Maybe forever.”
“Hey, woah, what?” Roman’s voice was startled as he got up from his seat and rushed to the door, “No, you aren’t leaving. This conversation isn’t over.”
He planted a large hand on the door handle, preventing you from opening it. You could feel his hulking figure behind you and you wanted to shrink under his size, but stayed strong.
“Roman, move your hand.”
“You’re not fucking leaving. Let’s just talk this out, OK?” He bargained.
You tried to pry Roman’s long fingers from the handle, but even with all your might working to untangle their hold, he was just too strong.
“I’ll listen, OK? I’m sorry, just let’s talk. Let’s talk about this.” His knuckles were turning white below you. You could see his bones threatening to break the surface of his reddening skin.
“Are you going to listen to me, or just dismiss and make fun of me? Because if you do Roman, I’ll just go out the back door.”
“I will. Promise.” He sounded sincere. Maybe now that he knew you were serious, he was more receptive to what you had to say.
You turned to press your back to the door and look up at him. The fear on his face was surprising to you. You hadn’t expected him to be so scared at the prospect of your leaving, he sure hadn’t cared that you were around since Annie arrived.
“I’m mad at you.” You stated frankly.
“Yeah, I caught that.” He sighs.
“I don’t like how you act around Annie. It’s disrespectful to me. I’m not a woman who cares when you look, but when you start to flirt and threaten to touch? I’m done, Roman. I’m not kidding.” You raised your eyebrows as Roman listened intently.
“I never touched.” He swore.
“Yes, but you’ve flirted and “innocently” touched. Flirted, touched and now you are starting to look at her like you looked at me.”
“I have never looked at her the way I look at you.”
You scoffed, then pantomimed his love lorn expression for him, clasping your hands over your heart theatrically.
He just rolled his eyes, “I’ve never looked at Annie like that.”
“Trust me, you have.” You say, ducking under his outstretched arm to walk back to the kitchen.
“Baby…”
“Don’t baby me, I’m still pissed.” You started to gather the abandoned plates to put in the sink for Jane.
“Then what can I do, huh? How do we work this out?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.
“Let me just ask you something,” You abruptly turn from the sink to face him, “Do you want to fuck her?”
Roman sucks in a deep intake of breath and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly.
Your tears threaten once more. You already knew his answer was yes, though all but hearing him say it was worse.
“Ok, let me ask you something else. Have you slept with her?”
“No! Absolutely not, baby. Never.” Roman said, taking a step toward you.
“And why should I believe you when I know that you want to have sex with her? Hm?” You crossed your arms.
“Because you know I love you. Because you know that I can’t even stomach the idea of my life without you,” Roman says, his tone frighteningly serious.
You look at him for a long moment, his eyes pleading for you to speak while you collected what you wanted to say next.
“Do you want to leave me for her?” You finally said, trying your best to sound collected.
“Baby, hey--”
“No, just listen Roman,” You took a breath, “Because, you know, if you wanna be with her, be with her. Just do it. Don’t string me along because you’re scared of losing more people. Because I get it, I mean I do. She’s an upir, you’re an upir... You have shared experience and she can teach you about what you are and just… Roman if you leave me just don’t be a pussy and cheat on me. Just break up with me.”
Roman looked at you bewildered and once again stammered for his words. For a moment, you were planning on looking at the price of U-Hauls; on how long you could stay with Destiny before you were intruding; if you would stay in Hemlock Grove because it was less expensive or just go straight to shopping for places in Philly?
But Roman doesn’t sigh and tell you it’s over. He doesn’t let you down easy or even scream and stomp his feet.
He just says:
“I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. Family, friends, whatever. It doesn’t matter because you win. You always win. I’m not breaking up with you, alright? Jesus fucking Christ, nothing sounds worse to me than that.” Roman takes a long stride toward you to look soulfully into your eyes.
“Yeah, I think Annie’s hot and yes, she’s an upir. So fucking what? I’m not going to leave you because of that! I could give a shit about either of those things when you’re right under my nose.”
Your pick at your nail polish as you listen to him, feeling embarrassed. But Roman doesn’t let you wallow as he tilts you by the chin to look at him.
“I should’ve asked you if she could stay, I’ll admit that. I shouldn’t have been so chummy with her, either. And yeah, I probably should’ve just asked you why you were being so fucking moody. But you should have told me what was wrong without pouting.”
“I just wanted you to come to me and ask… for some reason I convinced myself if you asked me what was wrong, it was a sign that you still loved me.” Saying it out loud made your face heat uncomfortably.
“I love you, but that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roman chuckles.
“Don’t be rude,” You huff, pushing him gently by the shoulder, “Letting another random woman stay here was the real stupid thing.”
“How about we call it a draw?”
“I think I can handle that…”
“Ok, then it’s a deal. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, it’s all good.” Roman pinches your chin lightly to hold your face in place to place a soft kiss to your lips.
You hadn’t kissed him in days, and the feeling made you whimper.
“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest crazy lady?” Roman asks, his breath dusting your mouth with a smirk on his face.
You push him again, with more strength this time.
“I don’t like when Annie mentions Nadia. She is our daughter and hearing that woman say her name makes me go into like, hyper lioness mode and all I think about is punching her.”
Roman’s eyes widened.
“I do not need another woman sticking her nose in our business with our daughter. May I remind you that’s how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”
Roman sucks in a deep breath through his nose, “That’s fair.”
“I already miss her, I don’t need some woman who’s trying to hop on my boyfriend’s cock talking about her.” You were starting to get angry again.
And fucking Roman, he just smiles.
“Hearing you call her our daughter, calling me your boyfriend, all while being on a little jealous rampage? I gotta admit baby, it’s got me hard as a rock.”
“It always comes back to your weird primal possession,” You roll your eyes.
“Eh, you knew that from the beginning.” He shrugs.
“You’re still not totally forgiven, y’know?”
“Yeah? And what do I have to do to get out of the dog house, baby?” His smile turns devious.
“I want Annie out of this house,” You began.
“Done.” Roman cups your face as he started to walk you back toward the counter.
“I don’t want you seeing her without someone else present, or without telling me first. Not because I don’t trust you, but because--”
“--You don’t trust her. Got it,” Roman says, firmly pressing your lower back to the marble slab now.
“You know I have an intuition about these things,” You purse your lips in a pout as Roman begins to trail kisses across your jaw, “You should really be thanking me. I just know Annie’s going to turn out to be bad news. I have a feeling.”
He laughs, “Is there anything else, baby?”
“Yes…” You pause, “I want an inground pool. You promised me one when we moved in and the plans keep getting pushed back. I want to go swimming.”
“I’ll get the plans drawn up tomorrow,” He sucks on your pulse point.
“And you have to buy me as many bikinis as I want, designer ones, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you about the price.” You crane your neck to give him more access to continue his sweet assault on your skin.
“I’ll leave you with my credit card so you can order as many as you want.”
Roman moves from your neck to look down at you, his cocky persona flickering for a moment so you can see the sweet eyes of a lovesick boy hoping for forgiveness.
“Like I don’t already know the number,” You smile, letting him know that it had been granted.
He groaned, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I love you, too.” And you reached up to kiss him fiercely.
i hope you enjoyed! this was fun to write, i love writing a moody!reader lol. if you did enjoy, let me know with a comment or reblog (: ‘til next time, ily! *lets hope third times the charm and this ends up in the tags lol
#roman godfrey x reader#roman godfrey imagine#roman godfrey imagines#roman godfrey x you#roman godfrey reader insert#roman godfrey fanfic#roman godfrey fanfiction#roman godfrey fluff#roman godfrey angst#roman godfrey#bill skarsgård x reader#bill skarsgård fanfiction#bill skarsgard x reader#bill skarsgard imagine#bill skarsgård imagine#hemlock grove fanfic#hemlock grove fanfiction#hemlock grove imagines#hemlock grove imagine#stevesharrlngtonswrites
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hypnotic | part one
paring: vampire!im jaebeom x reader
genre: angst, eventual smut (part two), vampire au
warnings: language, cringey vampire cliches i’m sure
word count: 9,800+
summary: jaebeom has been waiting 200 years to find his mate - the one who can break his trance and isn’t affected by his hypnotic abilities. You don’t seem to be that person, but he just can’t seem to get you out of his mind… why?
a/n: hello guys! so i originally had this planned to post tomorrow (the 30th) but it was so long i decided to split it up and post one part today and the other part on the 31st! This first part is mostly Jaebeom and not a lot of Y/N but SO BE IT. This is also my first time writing in the genre of vampire/fantasy loL so please forgive me because it’ll probably be cringe and not make sense. if that’s the case lol drop me a message!! also vampire jaebeom was requested FOREVER ago. so here it is practically 3 decades later. and i attempted to make a banner. if someone can make me a better one it’s v much WELCOME.
part two
Knock Knock Knock
He wished he could just pretend like he was asleep. He wished he could use that as an excuse to not answer the door, but based on the very strong feeling he was getting from who was behind it – that wouldn’t work.
“I know you’re in there! Just answer the damn door Jaebeom!”
Jaebeom rolled his eyes, leave it to Bambam to be at his front door before the day even had a chance to truly begin. Before letting him in, he went through all the possible things or excuses he could use to get out of whatever his younger friend had in mind.
“Is your vintage YSL here or is it still at the dry cleaners?” Bambam asked, pushing past Jaebeom as soon as he has the door partway open.
Gruffly, Jaebeom turned back into his apartment to Bambam already halfway to his bedroom – no doubt to look through his closet, “What are you doing here Bam?”
“What does it look like? I’m here for the vintage YSL asshole!”
He’s learned by now that it’s better to let him do his thing – whatever that may mean. So instead of following Bambam, he plopped down onto the same couch he’s had for nearly 15 years. “You know when I first bought that shirt it wasn’t considered vintage!”
Jaebeom waited for a response, but instead, he was met with silence. After a few moments – many of them thinking about how maybe it was time to replace the couch – he felt his “vintage” YSL button-down hit him in the face.
He groaned; the impact was surely going to create wrinkles in the material he tried to keep in pristine condition. It was ironic since he was often heard making fun of how much Bambam cared about clothes, but Jaebeom liked to keep his things nice. “Bam I just got it back from getting cleaned a couple of days ago.”
“Put it on.”
The tone of his friend’s voice seemed rather impatient. If he had closed his eyes, Jaebeom would have thought he was talking to Jinyoung or even himself.
“Why do I need to put it on? It’s 8 in the morning; where are we going?”
“Um excuse me? Did you forget what day it was? Now come on, we’re meeting Jinyoung at that new café down the street in fifteen.”
He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to picture the café on the mental map he keeps in his mind, “the one that used to be a video store in the 90s?”
Bambam made his way into the living room, picking up a few glasses that rested on the coffee table Jaebeom’s feet were on top of, and marched over to the small kitchen. Jaebeom has lived in this apartment more years than he’d like to admit, especially because enough time had passed that the neighbors he had were clearly aging and he just stayed 26. The thought of moving somewhere new often enters his mind, but with this place, he just can’t bring it in himself to go quite yet. It’s almost as though something is tying him to this city, this place – like he’s waiting for something.
“Yes, and a speakeasy in the 20s both of which are not important right now because we live in the 21st century Jaebeom. Now come on, Jinyoung’s waiting – that asshole is always early.”
He heard Bambam mumble something along the lines of known him 100 years, would it kill him to just be on time for once, as he furiously dropped the glasses on the kitchen counter.
“Do I have to go?”
Bambam paused his motions of putting Jaebeom’s dirty dishes into the sink to stare the older vampire down, “Jaebeom you only turn 200 once.”
He scoffed in response, “Jesus don’t remind me.”
“We have to make a whole day of it! So please just put the shirt on, because I want you looking presentable,” he stopped in the middle of his sentence, suddenly wiggling his eyebrows, “you never know what could happen.” The final word is drawn out, almost sing-song like and it drives Jaebeom up the wall because he knows exactly what Bambam is referencing.
For Jaebeom and those like Jaebeom, they didn’t consider the day they were born as their birthday, but instead as the day they turned. There was no point in celebrating their birth anymore as they were no longer alive. However, at this point after 200 birthdays, – alive and dead combined - Jaebeom was beginning to believe that there was no point to those either. He always knew being immortal was a curse but day by day that idea was only solidifying itself in his mind.
Jaebeom let out a gruff breath which only made Bambam look up from the fork he was scrubbing, “Bam I don’t know what you think is going to happen today… but it certainly isn’t that.”
The “that” he was referencing was one of the main factors that as of late had made him feel like living forever was indeed a waste. It was the thing that was supposed to make him feel “complete.” According to old texts and traditional vampire folklore, he was now walking around half full, but once he met his mate, he would become whole. At first, he didn’t believe the tale. He had gotten by so far without a mate that the idea of him not being complete made him laugh. But watching both Bambam and Jinyoung find their mates – Bambam 70 years ago and Jinyoung 16 years ago – made him finally acknowledge and reflect on the piece of himself he was missing.
And fuck he was lonely.
Bambam chuckled at him as if being in on his own personal joke. His friend was strange like that sometimes, “just put the shirt on Jaebeom.”
By the time he’s had the shirt on and Bambam has somehow convinced him to let him wear his Rolex he got as a gift from his friend Jackson in 1920, Jaebeom feels mentally prepared to leave the house and embark on this dreadful day. The reminder that he has now been around for 200 years and still is not whole.
“Finally,” Jinyoung sighed when Jaebeom and Bambam finally reached the café down the street, “I’ve been waiting 20 minutes.”
A disgruntled Bambam checks his watch, “well if you don’t want to wait every single time, don’t be so fucking early,” he promptly turned to Jaebeom to share his grief regarding their friend, “you think he would learn after all this time.”
“Let’s just go order,” Jaebeom shrugged, not caring to be in another disagreement between his longer than life friends.
“Be honest you’re early on purpose just so it gives you something to complain about and a reason to make us feel bad!”
Jinyoung ignored Bambam’s theory, replying to the oldest, “no need. I already ordered for the three of us. It’s a special day, the birthday boy doesn’t need to pay,” he glanced at Bambam, “you on the other hand…”
The two new arrivals, flop down into the sofa chairs on either side of Jinyoung, along of them situated to make a half-circle in front of a low coffee table. The three of them had somehow stuck into this… pattern. Years of friendship that contained years of Bambam/Jinyoung squabbles that Jaebeom would often have to mediate. Patterns were nice, but sometimes they would get old – especially after so long.
As the two of them argue over whether or not Bambam should pay Jinyoung back for a simple iced Americano because Bam swears he got the drinks the last two times, Jaebeom looks over to the counter where the baristas work on – no doubt – the plethora of orders they have. The factor of the café being new has certainly been the cause of the popularity and amount of people in the shop. He can’t help but feel bad for the individuals working on the drinks – three years ago he had been one of them for roughly 18 months and knew that it wasn’t as easy as it appeared to be.
In retrospect, Jaebeom didn’t have to work. He had so much time to learn and understand what it meant to be financially responsible. Not only that, but he’s literally had hundreds of years to save. Plus, his early investments in companies ended up landing him some pretty substantial and valuable shares. Jaebeom was sitting on quite the pretty penny.
“Wow your portfolio is remarkable… I’ve never seen one like it,” his latest financial advisor had said to him in complete awe, “I mean an early investor in Amazon? Apple? Mastercard?”
Jaebeom had laughed nervously, “What can I say? My grandpa had good intuition, I guess.”
Money aside, he had wanted something to do with his time – hence his barista job. It was fun, but like most things, Jaebeom just grew tired of it and as he watched the girl working the espresso machine let out an exhausted breath, he realized that he wasn’t missing it.
Jaebeom has become good at studying people. It was something he still wasn’t sure of whether it was a vampire thing or just something he had picked up over time. Watching the girl at the machine, her hair is in a low bun, a few strands falling in front of her face. It’s clear with the way the hair tie is situated, that the hairstyle was once a bit neater, tighter, and sat at the middle or even top of her head. However, the now fallen placement and slight disarray signal how busy she’s been working and how fried she must be feeling.
He looks to the string bracelet on her wrist, visible from far away enough for Jaebeom to conclude that she must have someone in her life deemed important to wear one of those “friendship” bracelets. He never saw the point, but humans were strange creatures, despite him once being one.
Jaebeom’s breath hitches when he catches sight of the delicately drawn tattoo on her wrist near the bracelet. It’s of lavender and it immediately reminds him of his mother who had loved exploring the lavender field that had been near his home when he was a child. Despite all the time that has passed since he lost his mother, the pain that aches inside of Jaebeom when he thinks of her isn’t any less.
His thoughts are interrupted by the call at the coffee bar, “Order for Jinyoung.”
The call comes from the overworked girl he had been studying and Jaebeom wants more than anything to stand up and retrieve their orders. He finds a weird want to hear what her laugh sounds like. Maybe he could say something or strike up a conversation that would-
“What are you doing?” It takes Jaebeom a moment to notice that he has partially stood up from his chair as if he’s about to go somewhere. Cluelessly, he replied, “going to get the drinks.”
The youngest shook his head, “No way! Birthday boys don’t get their drinks, they don’t lift a finger.”
He knew Bambam was one to take birthdays seriously, but this was beginning to feel like it was going the extra mile too many.
“I’ll get it.”
Jaebeom watched Bambam get up to retrieve the drinks. He expects him to just grab the drinks and return to the table, but instead, Bambam says something to the girl. Arching his neck to the side, he tries to make a clear path to eavesdrop on what’s being said, hearing being one of the benefits of turning. Unfortunately, the café is too loud for him to focus on the conversation and he’s defeated by the fact that he’ll have to stay in the dark.
The girl laughs loudly at something Bambam said and Jaebeom can’t help but feel mixed about it. On one hand, he got his wish – hearing her laugh – but on the other hand, he wasn’t the cause of it. For some reason it makes him bring his clench and unclench his fists which rest on the arms of the sofa chair. Jinyoung takes notice.
Jaebeom quickly looks down at his lap when he senses that Bambam is returning to where they’re sat, not wanting to give away that he had been staring. First, he places Jinyoung’s and his drink on the table, soon turning back around to go back and fetch the last drink – Jaebeom’s.
When he comes back, Jaebeom looks up to see a large grin spread across the youngest’s face. He has that look again – the one as if he knows a joke Jaebeom doesn’t.
The latter nodded his head in thanks for getting the drinks as he inspects his green tea on the table. Just as he’s about to pick up the mug, he’s stopped in his tracks by an announcement coming from the coffee bar.
“Hello everyone! Sorry for the interruption, but I’ve been told that we have a birthday here today,” you said. Giving announcements wasn’t your strong suit, but you figured now that you were an actual owner of something, you were going to get over your shyness. But you didn’t think it was going to be that often that a tall, skinny and pale boy with a Rolex on his wrist would be asking you to get your coffee shop to sing happy birthday for his friend. Even when you were a barista working for someone else no one had made such a request. This was a café after all, not an Applebee’s.
Jaebeom wished more than anything that he could sink into his seat and just disappear. If only that cliché that vampires turned into bats were true, then he could just fly away at a moment’s notice. Leave it to Bambam to torture him like this. It wasn’t intentional of course, but it certainly felt like it to Jaebeom.
It was especially tragic to him because the girl he had been studying was the one leading the entire café in singing “Happy Birthday.” He did his best to avoid looking at her, feeling like his entire body was heating up in embarrassment even though he couldn't heat up.
You on the other hand felt a little insulted by the birthday boy’s lack of eye contact. You hadn’t even managed to get a good look at him before you started singing and now it was not possible with the way that he was looking down at the ground, his long hair falling in front of his face, concealing itself to you. It wasn’t difficult to conclude that he felt awkward about a bunch of strangers he had never met singing him happy birthday, you had felt the same whenever your friends tried to ambush you on your birthday… but you at least looked up and acknowledged the presence of the people singing. A tight smile from this guy would even be happily accepted.
When the song is over and the claps that follow finally subside, he looks up to see the café back at its previous state of normalcy, not a single person looking at him anymore. Jaebeom lets out a sigh of relief.
“You could at least act like you liked it,” Bambam huffed in annoyance. He wished Jaebeom could appreciate the idea of birthdays like he did.
“I really didn’t need to be the center of attention today Bam.”
“But it’s your bir-” Bambam begins to explain, but Jaebeom abruptly cuts him off, not wanting to hear his reasoning for today’s antics, yet again. The day hadn’t even started.
“My birthday, I know. Thanks for reminding me.”
Jinyoung clears his throat and plays with the spoon that came with his Flat White. Just as Jaebeom is the mediator for Bambam and Jinyoung, sometimes Jinyoung has to be the mediator for Jaebeom and Bambam. Essentially the commonality in the disagreements of their trio friendship is Bambam and currently, Jinyoung feels as though he should route the conversation elsewhere.
“What else is in the cards for tonight then boys?”
It’s then based on the look on Jaebeom’s face, that Jinyoung thinks that maybe talking about the plans for tonight – on Jaebeom’s birthday – isn’t re-routing the conversation. Especially since it’s Bambam’s whose eyes light up and is the one to reply to him.
“Obviously we’re going out tonight,” Bambam paused and turned to Jaebeom, wagging his finger in the latter’s face, “there’s no way you’re getting out of this. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”
Jaebeom rolled his eyes and didn’t respond as he knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He had rejected Bambam’s invitations to go out consistently for the last 6 months and on his birthday of all days, Bam was going to force him out of the house just as he had done this morning to come to the café.
He looks back to the front counter, his eyes searching for the barista who has now suddenly disappeared. A frown begins to make itself known on his face, feeling a bit disappointed by the fact that she may have left already or gone elsewhere, but soon she’s popping up from behind the counter, no doubt getting something from the cabinets below. Jaebeom feels relief.
“What did you say to her?” he asked suddenly looking back at Bambam.
He cocked his head to the side, confused, “What did I say to who?”
“The barista behind the counter.”
His friend nodded his head slowly, suddenly realizing what Jaebeom means. A smirk appears on his face, “nothing much… Just how it was your birthday and it would be really good if we could all embarrass you by singing about it. She’s not a barista, by the way, she owns the place. Kinda backward thinking there Jae. It’s the 21st century, women can own things now, they can vote.”
“I know that,” Jaebeom hissed.
Bambam puts up his hands in defeat, “I’m just making sure.”
“Don’t you know her?” Jinyoung asked, “isn’t that why we came here?”
Jaebeom’s interests are perked. It’s not often that the three of them meet new people. It’s not like there’s a huge point to it. The last new person the three of them met was Mark – also a vampire – a bartender at their favorite club in the city, but that was in 2007.
He waits for Bambam’s explanation as to how he knows this girl and why they came here specifically beside it just being near Jaebeom’s apartment.
Waving his hand nonchalantly, the Thai boy gives his answer, “I don’t really know her. Minji does. Met her in some kind of class, I think. SoulCycle? Pilates? Zumba? I don’t know. I can’t keep up with her and her activities these days.”
Minji is Bambam’s mate. He had turned her only a month after they met.
Jaebeom’s not sure what he would do if he met his mate. He doesn’t know if he would want to subject them to turning and living the same kind of life as him, but he also doesn’t know if he could continue life alone after meeting his mate. If he ever meets them.
“Why the curiosity?” Jinyoung asked, for once finding it hard to remain stone-faced. Even his usual chill, non-revealing demeanor seems to fade away when it appears that his older friend might be attracted to someone.
Jaebeom simply shrugged, “it’s nothing…”
“What do you think? Could she be the one?” Bambam asked teasingly, pointing to the girl behind the counter.
Jinyoung rolled his eyes almost immediately at the younger boy, “if you’re going to keep bothering him about it, don’t make it so obvious idiot.”
Jaebeom had been alive – or more like undead – for 200 years and more than half of that time he had to listen to this same conversation from his friends over and over again. His patience was wearing thin and 180 years later, he was tired of their pestering.
He leaned forward slowly and grabbed his green tea off the table, making sure to visibly flinch at the heat of the drink, Bambam, and Jinyoung chuckling at his reaction. Out of the three of them, Jaebeom certainly had the most practice when it came to “putting on a show” for the humans and “acting” the most human. Taking a sip, he looked back at the girl behind the counter.
The youngest vampire had spent many of their outings and conversations hypothesizing who Jaebeom’s mate could be. Despite being the oldest of the three, Jaebeom was the only one left who still hadn’t found his mate and he was beginning to feel hopeless. Typically, Bambam pointed out any human girl as a candidate – all of them of course ended up not being his mate. Therefore, Jaebeom didn’t pay attention to his picks anymore, but he had to admit… He did get a strange feeling from the girl behind the counter.
Jaebeom looked to you, hoping to catch your gaze as you quickly made the coffee orders for the few people waiting to the side of the cash register. Just when he was about to give up and focus his attention back on his friends, you tore your concentration away from the drink in your hand and looked up at him from across the cafe.
Jaebeom focused his gaze deep onto you with his eyes – testing, checking, and trialing your focus. You didn’t look away, instead, you trained your eyes deeply into his and stared at him until finally, it was Jaebeom who broke the contact.
He shook his head at his friends, disappointed by your inability to break the trance and ultimately confused at the feeling he still got from you despite that.
Jaebeom took another sip of the tea, “it’s not her.”
“Did you have to debate that Uber driver on the Twilight franchise?” Jinyoung groaned at Bambam as soon as they’re out of the car.
The entire twenty-minute ride, he had got into a heated discussion with their driver on how Twilight was not “true” or realistic to most actual vampire folklore. It had been an excruciating thing to listen to.
“Got to stand up for our kind dude.”
“Okay, but what happens when she starts asking how you know all these things or why you’re so interested in vampire stuff?” Jinyoung tended to always be right. This wasn’t an exception.
Brushing off his pants, Bambam gives him a nonchalant wave, “chill out man. Everyone loves vampire stuff.”
“Maybe in 2008,” Jaebeom said just barely loud enough for his friends to hear them. The two of them laughed, Bambam shoving him playfully on the shoulder, “Birthday boy getting funny on us.”
“I was always funny,” Jaebeom deadpanned.
“Funny and looking good tonight. Let’s get you laid, shall we?”
After a day that was jampacked full of various activities planned by his youngest friend, the last thing Jaebeom wanted to do was spend extra energy on trying to get some girl to come home with him tonight. Besides, he wasn’t that guy anymore.
Jinyoung scoffed, “he doesn’t need to get laid tonight.”
“Yes, he does! Jaebeom how long has it been?”
This time it’s Jinyoung that shoves Bambam’s shoulder – except it’s not all that playful.
“Fine don’t answer that, but I’m just saying there will be quite a few girls here that you can have your pick of, despite your plain outfit.”
Jaebeom looked at the clothes he had changed into when Bambam spared him a sliver of time to go back home to digress and feed his cats. The latter had wanted him to borrow clothes of his, but instead, Jaebeom decided on pulling pieces from his closet that felt more like him, less like Bambam. A plain pair of ripped jeans, an oversized black shirt that he had bought at a shop from his trip to London last year, and his mother’s necklace that often wasn’t missing from its spot around his neck.
Bambam’s earlier critique was that he was dressed too basic and that no girls would bat an eye at him. Girls don’t like plain guys, he had said. The comment makes Jaebeom wonder about you and whether you’d fall under the category of not liking “plain” guys.
He bites the inside of his cheek. It was probably the eighth time he had made himself do it today. Jaebeom had found his mind often drifting to you throughout the day for some unexplainable reason. During their walk in the park, he wondered if you would take strolls during your breaks from the café or when Bambam forced him to go paint pottery for an hour and a half he thought about what you would paint. It frustrated him because he hadn’t even spoken to you – not a word and yet you were clearly on his mind for one reason or another. It wasn’t even like you were his mate. He had tried to see if you were unaffected by his trance, his hypnotic capabilities, but you had just stared at him completely fixated just as everyone else was.
Jaebeom was not going to think about you any longer. He was already planning on avoiding your café.
“We’re on the list,” Bambam tells the bouncer when they arrive at the entrance of the club. He scans the list and motions his head towards the direction of the door to signal to the three of them to go on ahead. There’s a bit of a whine coming from the people waiting in line which admittedly so makes Jaebeom feel a little guilty, but Bambam ensures him it’s fine, “why have a friend who works at a club if we can’t use him for the perks?”
“Why does he keep bartending again?” As soon as the question is out of Jaebeom’s mouth he realizes it was a stupid thing to ask since the answer is apparent.
Bambam laughed at him, giving his long – irreplaceable he’d like to remind everyone – leather coat to the person at the front of the club. Jaebeom swears he hears him tell the coat check guy the “proper” way to put it on a hanger.
“Obviously for the girls Jaebeom.”
Mark’s mate – Hana had passed on a long time ago. Jaebeom had never got the chance to meet her, only hears about her in passing from some stories that Mark has told the three of them. He hadn’t turned her. Jaebeom’s never asked why.
“Girls… of course.”
He can’t help but think about how Mark must feel inside. Although Jaebeom doesn’t know him as well as he knows Bambam and Jinyoung, whenever he’s with the older boy he’s always got a smile on his face. Often quiet, but he’s always got certain energy bouncing off of him that would indeed make him popular with women. However, if what they say about mates is true, would that mean that a piece of Mark was now missing? Did he feel like he was less of a person? Jaebeom felt like that sometimes and he hadn’t even met his mate yet. Mark had his, but now he didn’t.
“Drinks?” Jinyoung asked the two of them and Jaebeom is partly surprised. Out of the three of them, Bambam was the one who was the most comfortable in a club or even bar setting. He figures that Jinyoung must be using his birthday as an excuse to cut loose and become someone else for the night.
Bambam instantly nodded his head at Jinyoung’s suggestion and Jaebeom finds himself trailing behind the two of them as they make their way over to Mark at the bar who is throwing his head back at something the girl across the bar is saying. Judging on Jaebeom’s intuition – it’s a bit fake and overplayed, but you got to do what you got to do.
“My man!” Bambam yelled over the music, leaning against the counter in a way to make sure he doesn’t get the elbows of his long sleeve turtleneck wet. Mark in response, turned to them and smiled, then routing his attention back to the girl, giving her an apologetic smile. Her half-smile says everything Jaebeom could need to know – this girl would not be going home with Mark after his shift tonight.
“What can I get you guys tonight,” Mark turned to Jaebeom and the latter can barely make out his sharp canines in the dark club, “birthday boy you want anything special?”
Before Jaebeom can reply that he wants to be at home, Bambam answers for him.
“Could we maybe get something that’s off the menu?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Mark who gave him a shit-eating grin, knowing immediately what he was talking about.
“Off the menu” meant Mark’s secret stash of O negative underneath the counter. While alcohol had the same effect on them that it had on the average humans, adding a bit of blood just made a little bit better. Okay… it made it a lot better.
“Three negronis coming right up,” Mark winked to give a little signal that these would most likely not be as well composed or put together as a negroni, but due to them being in public, he couldn’t necessarily announce a shit ton of alcohol mixed with human blood was going to be served up to them.
“How has your birthday been Jae?” Mark asked as he was in the middle of placing three glasses onto the countertop in between them.
It was difficult to explain since to Jaebeom it had just been another day except for a little bit more excruciating. The celebration of another year “older” filled him with thoughts of how much time has passed, whether he’s done anything truly important and why he still hasn’t found the person who is meant to complete him… but like he said only a little more excruciating than any other day.
Jaebeom shrugged in response, “Bam planned a lot and for the most part, it was…” he paused for a moment, wondering if he should say how he felt – numb, lost, and wishing the day would come to an end as if tomorrow won’t bring the same thoughts or problems. But as he looked at his friends who had tried so hard today to make him happy and celebrate, he decided to guard them against the ultimate truth, “for the most part it was fun – really good. I mean besides the singing at the café of course.” He throws in the last part to at least have some kind of believability to his story.
He notices Mark’s eyebrows lift out of curiosity as his concentration focuses on measuring out each part of the drinks, “An entire café sang you happy birthday? Damn, I don’t think I could ever get through that, so I can only imagine how you feel.”
“That was Bam’s idea,” Jinyoung muttered.
Once again, Bambam does his nonchalant waving of the hand, “it wasn’t that bad. I mean okay, maybe it was… But Jaebeom was obsessed with the girl who led it.”
Jaebeom suddenly feels like he wants to put duct tape over his friend’s mouth.
“I was not obsessed with her! I don’t even know her!” Jaebeom for some reason felt the need to defend himself, which was probably the worst option. Him getting defensive was usually a tell-tale sign for his friends being right on whatever they were confronting him with.
Bambam scoffed, bringing gliding his drink across the bar to be directly in front of him once Mark has poured it neatly into the short glass, “I noticed you staring at her before I went to get the drinks. That’s why I asked her to do it in the first place.”
“So, she doesn’t know Minji?” Jinyoung questioned.
The youngest takes his first sip and immediately lets out a hissing noise, signaling to Mark that it’s both strong and good. “No, she does, but Jaebeom’s weird staring only made it that much better.”
Mark pushed the other two glasses towards Jinyoung and Jaebeom, “Was she your…” he drifted off, almost as though he was finding it physically difficult to get the word out. Jaebeom can’t help but feel the want to reach his hand out towards Mark and place it comfortingly on his shoulder, but his group of friends don’t do that. Instead, he saves him the trouble by answering back right away, not forcing him to say it.
“No, she wasn’t.”
The bartender nodded slowly, suddenly avoiding his gaze from the three familiar boys across the bar from him, “That’s uh… too bad that she wasn’t able to break the trance. Sorry, Jaebeom.”
He knows that Mark is just trying to be nice, especially when they’re on a subject that he clearly can’t and doesn’t want to talk about, but the attempt to be comforting makes Jaebeom nauseous.
“Well maybe he’ll find her here tonight,” Jinyoung quipped, placing a hand on Jaebeom’s back. Sometimes the latter swore that his friends treated him he had just found out he had a terminal illness.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Jaebeom commented gruffly.
There’s a sound from the other side of the bar from a customer who seems fed up with the conversation being had between the four of them – distracting Mark from serving anyone else. He gives a signal to them to notify them that he’ll be there in a second. “Well… come to me if you guys need more drinks. It’s on me tonight.”
“Thanks, man,” Jaebeom tells him honestly because he might need a couple more drinks before he gets to the state of wanting to be in this room.
Mark said a final word of “see you guys later” and heads to the other end of the bar to help customers who have been waiting. Grabbing their drinks, Jaebeom, Jinyoung, and Bambam turn around to depart the bar, to find somewhere to sit for a bit before the drinks truly begin to hit them.
With his drink in hand, Jaebeom took a sip and reveled in the perfect balance of alcohol to burn his throat and blood to soothe it. The drink was probably the most relaxing part of his day thus far and as he looked out at the crowd, he could already tell that maybe the mixture was going to his head due to his sudden thinking that this place wasn’t all that bad.
Despite not being a club guy, if he were to go out, Jaebeom would always choose this club that Mark works out. To put it simply – it was vampire friendly. With Mark behind the counter and his “secret” supply free-flowing, it became a notoriously known place for vampires in town. If he had to guess, the attendance on an average night was probably evenly split 50/50, humans and vampires.
The humans weren’t aware of the vampires of course – for the most part.
Jaebeom cleared his throat once they’ve found a booth to sit in, “so… Bam what do you know about that girl?”
Both Jinyoung and Bambam exchange glances before looking back at the birthday boy. The latter tried his best to conceal the smile on his face, “not much… just that she owns the café, knows Minji, and is very single.”
For some reason, Jaebeom’s stomach does a little flip, but he wishes it wouldn’t. “S-So?” Through his stutter, he tries to remain as confident as possible, but his friends see right through his façade.
Jinyoung leaned forward until his elbows rest on the top of his thighs, “Jaebeom you can be honest with us… Why the sudden fascination with this girl? Are you sure she didn’t break the trance? Just with the way that you’re acting…” Jinyoung drifted off, not bothering to finish his final sentence, but once again looking at Bambam. It makes Jaebeom lean forward in his seat as well.
“With the way, I’m acting? I’m completely normal. I’m fine. She didn’t break the trance and now I’m just curious about her as curious as anyone would be about someone they meet.”
There’s the silence between the three of them until Bambam speaks up, “You didn’t meet her though.”
It dawns on Jaebeom that he didn’t even speak to you and he wonders why does it feel like he did. Why did it feel like he knew you but didn’t at the same time? Why haven’t his mind and body been cooperating with him since this morning at the café?
Just with the way that you’re acting…
The way he was acting? What did that mean? Was the way he was acting mean something specific?
He feels like he blinks and thirty minutes go by. And in that past thirty minutes, Jaebeom had somehow managed to drink 6 of Mark’s “negronis.” He felt like his head was beginning to get dizzy. It wasn’t often that Jaebeom found himself drunk on the verge of drunkenness due to alcohol not affecting him as much as humans. To even remotely get to that state, he had to drink a lot and it had to be strong.
“You feeling it Jaebeom?” Through the darkness and the haze of the alcohol, Jaebeom could barely make out the hint of the smile playing on Jinyoung’s face. He had switched to a glass of wine at some point while Jaebeom was binge drinking which had to be the most Jinyoung thing ever. Who drinks a glass of wine in a dark, sweaty club?
He’s afraid to answer him verbally which would give his friend an obvious sign of how he was feeling. So instead he just shrugged – as usual.
“Dude let’s get out there!” The youngest shouted, motioning his hands to the middle of the club, “dance… maybe find you a girl?”
Jaebeom watched the people pressing up against each other on the dancefloor, moving their bodies, and drinking like their lives depended on it. He wondered if he wanted to be a part of that. Everyone out there was so full of life and vigor… he just wasn’t. He also didn’t know if he was that drunk, but bless Bambam because he didn’t need alcohol to be out there.
For what feels like the millionth time, his mind drifted to you. Was this your kind of place? Would you come here? If you did would you come alone? With friends? Someone else? You didn’t seem like the type of person who would like this place. You seemed more like him – the observant, calm, inquisitive type who would much rather be at home with a book than at a party.
Then for a moment, he can picture it. It’s almost like he’s in a trance – an image of you curled up on a couch – his couch – under a large white cable knit blanket fills his mind. Rather than reading, your painting with watercolors – the kind that seems to be in every elementary school classroom – and he hears a voice out of view. His voice.
“Painting really?”
Jaebeom sees you glance up from your painting to look at him, smiling.
“Looks like I’m gonna have a lot of time on my hands so… might as well get good at something.”
Jaebeom hears himself laugh, “Okay but watercolors?”
He feels like he’s going to pass out when he finally hears it – your laugh.
“Let the artist work Im Jaebeom! She needs to get good enough to live off auction house money once her paintings get sold! Shh!” Despite your words, you smiled and suddenly moved the tools away from you onto the coffee table. You lifted half the blanket off of you and patted the space of the couch beside you, “you know I can’t say no when you give me that face. Come here.”
And just like that, the vision is gone. Jaebeom feels confused because it didn’t feel like a dream or fantasy, but it felt real… it felt like a memory.
“Hello, Earth to Jaebeom?”
Right… dancing. Maybe dancing would help him forget whatever game his mind was playing on him.
“Yeah let’s fucking go.”
Another instance occurs where Jaebeom blinks and everything moves so fast. Suddenly he’s no longer sat at the table with Bambam and Jinyoung, but instead in the middle of that mess on the dancefloor with everyone else. He almost feels like one of them. He almost feels human again. But as soon as that feeling washes over him, it quickly dissipates.
He knows it must be the drinks doing all the work, because otherwise, he would have never found himself in the middle of all these people, thinking that dancing is a good idea. Dancing had never done anything remotely good for him before, so why now? To help forget? Was it going to help him do that?
“I swear it’s like he’s not even here.”
Jaebeom tuned back into the moment, and it’s when he realizes that Jinyoung and Bambam have been trying to get his attention this entire time.
“Sorry I was just- the alcohol you know…” He says it so quietly that he knows his friends won’t be able to hear him over the music and the millions of conversations happening around them. But he thinks that maybe it’s better that way and that it truly doesn’t matter what he says.
Jinyoung comes closer to Jaebeom, until his mouth is right next to his ear, “we were just asking if there’s anyone that you’re interested in.”
They’re still on this idea? Jaebeom asked himself.
Even in his drunken state, he didn’t think that finding some random girl to fuck was going to help with the emptiness he’s been feeling lately, but for the first time since getting up and onto the dance floor he takes in the people around him. As depressing as it was to observe, most people were here with someone else.
It’s then his gaze falls onto a couple that stands far on the left side of the floor, behind where Jinyoung is standing. The two of them have their fronts pressed up against each other, dancing so closely with arms exploring one another’s bodies. The female has her head resting on the male’s shoulder as if she’s too exhausted to keep going, but can’t dare to part with him. It’s like they’re part of each other and any distance would cause them to lose all sense of themselves.
The girl lifts her head off the male’s shoulder and gives him this look that makes Jaebeom’s heart – if it was still beating – ache. She says something to him and he nodded happily in response. Even through the dim lights and large crowd, Jaebeom could see the sharp teeth inside her mouth.
She placed her head back against his shoulder, this time, however, the male had his head angled back, stretching out his neck. The girl moves in closer until her mouth just ghosts over the skin, breathing on it until the boy shuts his eyes awaiting the sting and pleasure that will come next.
Biting down against his flesh, breaking skin, the girl drinks from her partner. Even though he’s at a distance from them, Jaebeom can tell by the look on the man’s face that he’s enjoying being fed on and that it certainly isn’t his first time.
He feels like his eyes are frozen on the couple. It’s been so long since he fed off someone instead of the stuff that he gets from his connection at the hospital. Jaebeom tries not to think about the way his fingertips tingle and his throat dries up at the thought of drinking from a warm body. The alcohol has only dehydrated him and made him feel even more thirsty – he’s afraid that going back to the bar and asking Mark for a glass of O negative exclusively isn’t going to make that go away.
After a moment or two, the girl removes her mouth from the boy’s neck and drags her tongue over the spot where she had drawn blood from, ultimately covering the wound and signaling that she was done drinking.
He thinks of how risky it is to do that at a place like this. Although half of the people around them also take part in the activity of drinking blooding and granted most of them aren’t paying attention to those around them – there are still unsuspecting humans everywhere. If one wrong person were to see then that could be it for this club being a haven for the vampire community in the city and that would probably be… it for vampires in this city in general.
But who was he kidding? He was being a hypocrite because he’s for sure done the same thing.
You’ve once again entered his mind. However, this time it isn’t an image, picture, or vision that occupies his thoughts, but instead just the idea of how you would react to who he is, what he really is. Throughout his time that he’s been undead he’s only done the “reveal” to a handful of people and even then, it took him a long time to get there. Well except for one person who ultimately was a mistake and his friends hadn’t hesitated to let him know.
With you, Jaebeom felt that you wouldn’t be the kind of person to judge him instantly based on what he was. You would be shocked of course, maybe even scared, but you wouldn’t let that cloud your judgment. You wouldn’t let yourself reject something just because it was unfamiliar.
What the fuck was he on about?
It must be the alcohol doing this to him. He would have to thank Mark for making them strong this time around, but also make a mental note to never let this happen again. Jaebeom was already a deeper thinker, but this was getting out of hand.
There’s a sudden grasp of Jaebeom’s elbow and he feels himself jump at the sudden touch. His eyebrows furrowed when he realized it wasn’t one of his friends considering Bambam and Jinyoung were both dancing over to his right side.
When he turned around to greet the person who had grabbed him, he was disappointed, surprised, and annoyed all in one. It was the last person he had expected to see her, except not really because it made perfect sense.
“Jaebeom… hi.” Ara smiled shyly at him, tucking a string of hair behind her ear and slightly looking down at the ground. He wants to groan because he knows she’s doing this because he had once mentioned that he thought it was hot when she looked innocent. He shouldn’t have ever said that.
He’s not sure what to say, because what are you supposed to say to someone you’ve been trying to avoid for the past year and a half? Jaebeom had said everything he had wanted to say to her.
At one point in his life, he had been stupid. He had been stupid and he had abused the power that had been bestowed upon him since the day he had been turned. Perhaps one would assume that he’d been foolish with his ability just at the start – 100, maybe even 150 years ago. Instead, Jaebeom had gone through a rough patch about a year or two ago.
The overwhelming pressure of finding his mate had started to get to him again. All he needed was someone, anyone to break the hypnotic trance and that was it. A task that seemed so simple, yet never came. So, Jaebeom had used hypnotism to his advantage, getting as many girls as he could in his bed in the shortest amount of time possible. He wasn’t proud of it and it was something he would constantly regret as long as he was ali- around.
One of those girls… had been Ara.
Jaebeom felt relieved when she didn’t wait for him to answer back at her greeting, “How are you? I-It’s your birthday, right? How old are you turning again? 27?” She winked immediately after her question and he wants to roll his eyes.
She was the mistake by the way. The mistake that knew about who he was.
He doesn’t even remember how it happened, how his secret slipped, or what the circumstances of her finding out was. Part of him thinks he was just horny, thirsty, and weak, but she found out and she… loved it.
Weirdly enough, Ara loved the idea of him being a vampire and his “lifestyle” which at first Jaebeom didn’t think too much about. He thought okay she’s taking this extremely well… better than anyone else I’ve ever told, but whatever, but then it became strange.
She was what those in the vampire community call a “vampire fetishizer.”
He coughed awkwardly, his gaze wandering over to Jinyoung and Bambam, hoping they would catch sight of him stuck with Ara and come rescue him. Jaebeom wasn’t that lucky though, not even on his birthday, “Yeah… 27.”
Jaebeom can’t help but look at her neck. It’s fully on display and it was clear that Ara had come here to find someone to feed on her. He had been the one to show Ara this place before he had been clued into her little… vampire obsession.
“Well did the birthday boy get everything he wants today?” She smiled and gave Jaebeom those eyes. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and he realizes he has to keep himself in check because he’s not that weak tonight… right?
His eyes flash to her neck again and Jaebeom feels his throat get even drier. He was so thirsty and he knows Ara would be so willing.
No Jaebeom… No.
“I-I uh yeah… you know got- yeah today’s been good,” he stuttered awkwardly, bringing his tongue out to wet his dry lips. Judging on the look on Ara’s face, she’s taken the action the wrong way.
“You look thirsty Jaebeom… do you want a drink?”
He knows what she means and Jaebeom swallows hard in an attempt to distract himself, to remind himself that he’s not that thirsty. He doesn’t need it that bad.
“I-I think I am.”
The words come out faster than his brain can process to stop them and the part of Jaebeom that’s coherent, sharp, and aware wants to punch the weak and drunk Jaebeom in the face.
Without a word, Ara turned from Jaebeom and began walking to one of the exits at the side of the club. He feels like he’s the one in a trance, mindlessly following her through the people, not even hearing Jinyoung and Bambam calling out to him. The only thing that Jaebeom makes note of as he follows her is Mark’s face behind the bar, giving him a tight smile. It almost stops Jaebeom. Almost.
When they finally get outside through the exit door, they find themselves in a small alley between the club and a dry cleaner.
Jaebeom doesn’t even get a moment to think before Ara is pushing him against the wall of the dry cleaner, her hands roaming up and down his body, her lips going to his own. They’re pressed up against each other so closely that he recalls the couple he had watched earlier. He feels sick comparing this moment now to the two of them.
“Fuck I missed you so much,” Ara sighed seductively into this ear, making Jaebeom’s stomach churn further at her clear longing for him. Well not him, but the vampire part of him.
“Please, I need it,” she mewled. At her words, he almost puts a stop to this whole thing and has to question whether this is the right thing to do. Jaebeom wonders if this is old Jaebeom behavior – the one that just used women and threw them away later like toys, but then he remembers that this is Ara. She’s using him as well.
It’s almost as though that old, cocky, snide Jaebeom appears out of nowhere as he says his next words and brings himself closer to her neck, “do you really need it?”
“Yes, Jaebeom I do, please.” Ara already sounds so desperate and he’s barely done anything. He can’t help but smirk at her reaction.
“Then I guess I better give it to you then.”
He’s about to do it. He’s about to bite down and finally relieve his thirst, his craving, but then he looks to the side of the alley – towards the street. He feels like he’s seeing things again like he’s in the middle of a hallucination or mirage. That thought is pushed away when he locks eyes with you.
“Don’t mind me,” you placed your hands up in front of yourself, to show him you’re not eavesdropping. Your action frustrated you because it would have been much better to say nothing, but you felt yourself panic. The prolonged eye contact with him while he’s just seconds away from pressing down – bitting down? – on the girl’s next for some reason pushed you into defensive mode. Not to mention his eyes… his eyes were – red?
The girl hadn’t noticed you; you aren’t even sure if she heard you, but she certainly noticed Jaebeom’s stare fixated on you. When she faces you, she wears an unpleasant sneer, clearly annoyed by your interruption of whatever this was.
“Can you go?” She said, the agitation in her voice more than apparent.
Rather than immediately leave the scene, you continued to stare at Jaebeom. It’s difficult to say why you decided to walk this specific way home despite it being so late and dark out, but for some reason, you couldn’t help but be pulled in this direction. You weren’t someone who believed in signs or fate, but it felt so wrong to go any other way tonight. That was another thing, you felt this kink in your neck that practically forced you or taunted you into looking down the alley between this dry cleaners and club. It was yet another thing about today that felt unexplainable to you as you certainly weren’t expecting the birthday boy from the café today to be in a compromising position with some girl.
After a moment of more uncomfortable staring – something else that had happened at the café today with him – Jaebeom breaks your gaze and looks down at his feet. The eye roll and acrid look on the girl’s face don’t go unnoticed by you.
You shouldn’t be here.
“S-Sorry. I’ll just get going then,” you concluded, unsure why you felt an uncomfortable sickness spread throughout the entirety of your body.
You barely knew this guy – all you really knew was that today was his birthday and that he was friends with Minji’s boyfriend. Basically nothing. Yet now and even earlier back at the café you had felt this weird sensation within yourself. Not even when you looked at him, but just being in the same presence. It had been so hard to focus on making coffee today when he was seated across the room. Every part of your body just wanted to get closer, gravitate towards him. It was fucking weird… and scary.
The girl nodded as if to signal “yeah about time,” at the announcement of your departure. Jaebeom on the other hand, still had his eyes glued to the ground as if looking at you once again will cause him some kind of pain.
Just as you’re about to continue your trip back home, you stop yourself and look back at the couple in the alley.
“Happy birthday by the way…” you paused wondering if it would be weird to say his name considering he doesn’t even know yours, but you shove the thought out of your mind, “Jaebeom…”
Hearing you say his name causes that tingling feeling in his fingertips to come back and his entire mind is sent into a frenzy. He feels too awkward, too shy to look at you again, but a sudden thought washed over him. What if earlier was a mistake? What if you are his mate? With the way he was currently feeling just at you saying his name, the visions he had in the club and the nonstop place you know had in his mind, it was difficult to believe that you weren’t his mate.
Bambam and Jinyoung had found it difficult to explain to him what it felt like to find your mate, but surely what he felt right now wasn’t normal behavior or feelings. Unless he was a psychopath.
Tightly shutting his eyes and drawing together all his strength, Jaebeom aims to try once again to see if you can break the hypnotic trance, unaffected by his abilities. However, as soon as he’s finally ready, head turned up to face you – you’re gone. You didn’t wait for him to respond to the happy birthday message. Instead, you simply left not wanting to be a burden or troublesome to whatever it was those two were doing in that alley.
“Thank fucking god, let’s get back to it,” Ara concluded with a final roll of her eyes, gripping Jaebeom’s shoulders to get him close to her once again. He stares at her neck, but this time he doesn’t feel anything. He no longer feels thirsty and his appetite is gone.
Jaebeom shrugs her off slightly. The encounter with you has caused him to wake up and realize what a bad idea it would be to do this right now. He hopes that Ara won’t put up a fight – he doesn’t want to have to hypnotize her if he doesn’t need to.
At his actions, Ara takes a step away in disbelief, as if she actually can’t believe that Jaebeom is changing his mind and no longer wants her, “are you serious?”
He doesn’t say anything but instead avoids eye contact with her just as he had done for you.
Snorting, she glared at him, “Fine. Whatever. I don’t fucking care. I can find someone else to feed off of me. Yours never felt that good anyway. Asshole.”
Just like that, she’s out of his life once again and Jaebeom can’t help but feel thankful. He should have never been weak enough to be dragged out by here anyway. He had just been consumed by thoughts of you, alcohol, and the couple on the dancefloor. Then again, not coming out here would have robbed him of the opportunity of seeing you again and finding out that you actually knew his name.
That’s when it dawned on him.
Fuck… how much had you seen? What did you see?
Jaebeom realized that he might have some explaining to do
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